


Making it Work

by Nesrie, Paladin (Nesrie)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Nesrie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Paladin
Summary: Arthur realized there was something different about him early on, but he didn't realize what was really happening until one day he just knew these dreams he's had almost his entire life had nothing to do with imagination or fantasy, but a distant past, a distant life, and all because he met a man named John. The thing is, John didn't seem to have the same memories and actually thinks Arthur is kind of crazy. Fortunately for the both of them it turned out to be just the right kind of crazy, and everything sort of worked out between them, well not really. These two boys struggle in a city that doesn't feel right, in jobs that make them miserable and a place that feels too tight. It's only when Arthur encounters another person from his past that he begins to wonder if the others are out there too. If they're looking for everyone  and maybe, just maybe they might shift from surviving to living again if found.





	1. Chapter 1 – And So We Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> I want to apologize in advance that my tags might not be perfect. I am working with multiple relationships so different tags apply to different relationships, and... I don't really know how to show that. I'll add tags if I realize I need to too.

Heavy steel tipped boots thumped against cracked concrete illuminated by a nearby streetlight that flickered too often near dark alleys and nearly empty streets. An old leather jacket given years ago at least kept his body warm and the heavy work gloves in his dark wash color jean back pocket at least reminded him why he made this walk five days a night, sometimes six, even seven if needed. Arthur pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit it, drawing in deeply, letting the smoke exhale slowly. A half of one a day, that was the promise, that was the goal and mostly he kept it. Despite his size, notable to most men and women, the short no-nonsense haircut he maintained for the better part of a decade now and the fact his knuckles occasionally bore the bruises and cracks of an occasional fight, about one a month, he just couldn’t say no to Marston like that. Sure, they both smoked pretty heavily when they first met, just sort of played around in a dive of a bar and eventually moved in together, but John quit first. It was mostly for her, the mother of his son Jack, Abigail. They’d been together a couple, few years, really together when John finally told him he got the girl pregnant. That look in the man’s dark pools of chocolate goodness went straight to panic, fearing the worst from Arthur when he admitted where he went a couple of Sundays a month, Lamaze class. Arthur imagined that moment to be akin to watching a train wreck. The words he was saying, about helping her, taking care of things didn’t match the “I’m about to bolt expression”, and the girl just wasn’t seeing it either. When they got home, he made things really simple for John: if he left her, left him, he wasn’t to bother coming back. When John was gone the next day, well Arthur knew what would happen next.

See Arthur always felt a little different, and by a little, he knew something inside him, a sort of compass, led him to people from his past, not his childhood or teen past, but the Arthur Morgan from years past, from the Old West. He began having dreams as a juvenile, images of himself in scenes that didn’t match, or he couldn’t find in movies and faces of people he’d never met. Over the years the ideas, the emotions as well as facts sort of untangled and then straightened up as soon as he met John. He recognized him, felt an instant connection, knew about a woman and a son before he heard about the baby or seen his mother. Thing was, John didn’t have these memories. He wasn’t sure anyone else did, but the day John Marston walked into his life, Arthur knew he wasn’t crazy, that they were meant to be close, and that John would likely leave him and come back. History didn’t exactly repeat itself, maybe didn’t need to retread every hard walked trail, but this, this he reasoned had to be a defining moment, and it was. His young lover, his partner came back less than a week later with a weak-ass apology and nowhere else to go. Arthur took him back, and they all moved to another place to start over again, start fresh. He told John everything about his dreams, about his past self, and John didn’t believe a word of it, but he stayed anyway. Arthur was owed at least that, and for a while things just sort of settled for a bit.

Abigail eventually moved out, found herself a steady little job working at some office. It’d go nowhere fast, but stable work, even with some benefits got her through most months. A quarter of Arthur’s paycheck supported the rest of the months. John wanted to contribute, he really did, and a lot of weeks he could. The brunette though, with a couple knife fights under his belt, and a few scars on his face to prove it, stringy black hair and a voice that made him sound like he smoked at least a pack a day but at the same time could charm a woman’s, or in his case a man’s, pants off had a temper and a real bad mouth. They’d be lucky if he kept a job for more than six months. He struggled, all the time, to provide, so Arthur made it real simple. They were together, so they’d do this together too which meant Arthur shifted from a live-in lover to a real partner, and Abigail got what was hers most the time, and John got to spend time with his son. Visits with Jack came with some restrictions… like no smoking, cut back on the swearing and at least one outing outside her or their apartment every couple or few months. Arthur loved that last one, but with a car not in great shape and not a lot of good public transportation, well they spent more than a few of those in a crowded park where the car noise, filth and just bad air ruined it some. He hated the city, the sounds and smell of it, the fact that all around them were huge walls that blocked the view… at least during these walks Arthur got his quiet even if the lights blotched out too many stars. 

Tonight he walked kind of slowly home. It was only a thirty minute walk if he went normal like, forty-five as he was walking now. He’d rather do that than get on yet another bus where he could smell urine or someone who hadn’t washed in a few months. And aside from the quiet, which he mostly got this late, it gave him time to spin another reason for John as to why he was in so late, again. While other men hid women, booze, or maybe even gambling, Arthur had to come up with lies to avoid telling his lover he worked another double shift. He’d never imagined he’d get so much flak for working too hard, but it really became one of many regular arguments. He knew John just felt bad about it though, about thinking he didn’t do enough.

These days John worked security at a local strip mall, afternoons and early evenings. Arthur tried to match his schedule or close with a day shift but he’d do back to back shifts to bring in what they needed or just some extra. Today was the former. John went to a clinic to get his cough looked at, so Arthur decided he wanted the funds ready for when the bill came in. When John inevitably panicked about not being able to pay it, Arthur would just send the check, and down John would come. At least the young man was real good with budgets which is why they had a credit card or two after Arthur damaged his credit a few years ago. And when it was all said and done, they’d probably pop some popcorn that night and watch one of those silly movies he liked, the stupid ones where one line in the entire thing had an entire generation remembering the movie for years, or more likely, just that one line, and probably not even a correct quote to boot. It didn’t matter though. Those nights always ended the same, with a happy sometimes drunk John and the continued seasoning of their couch. That’s why the biggest blanket they’d ever found covered the piece even though they lied and said it was to hide a hole in a cushion to any guest that asked. 

“Please stop!”

Arthur threw his cigarette on the ground and frowned, listening for the location of that voice.

“I said I don’t have anything!”

In an alley, of course. Arthur got a conceal carry license years ago, and his boss let him carry in the warehouse. He tried to be polite about it around others, keep it hidden, not challenge anyone or scare someone. That wasn’t the purpose of a gun. The people that flung them around were assholes, closeted assholes only some of the time. He gave the same speech to John when he took him to a range just out of the city to learn and get his permit too. John was a natural. It was kind of scary how he picked that up so quickly, and that’s when Arthur also learned the nature of his scars, or at least the claim. He believed John entirely about knowing how to fight with knives. He figured the boy had been on the streets at some point as a kid, learning to defend himself rather than go back to wherever he came from. But the location and proximity, unison of those scars and the fact Arthur remembered from the past what happened, well he had trouble believing that story now. It’s what John wanted him to believe, knives, so he let it lie.

So Arthur entered the alley without pulling his piece, reminding himself about the instructions, about the way to handle himself today. He shouldn’t pull it on someone he didn’t intend to kill, and he didn’t even know what was happening down here. His eyes adjusted though, and he saw a couple of shadows punching and kicking down on someone trying to curl up in a ball against the violence.

“Hey!”

They took off immediately, either scared of being caught or just noticing his size and presence. Arthur didn’t care about them though. Instead he hurried over to the injured man and tried to help him up.

“No! No!”

“Hey calm down boy. You’re all riled up.” Arthur slipped sometimes, falling into language and an older accent he never had, at least not in this life. Sometimes folks noticed and he played it off, others just sort of glanced at him and moved on pretending like they didn’t hear him. This boy though, he stopped fighting long enough for Arthur to bring him into the light to see if he needed to call an ambulance or get him to a hospital on foot. When he saw the man’s face though, he froze.

The man had light eyes, maybe green, maybe grey or just a hint of both. He wasn’t sun burned so the skin seemed pale instead of too worn in the weather like before. The nose remained red though, like the man cried frequently, and without the long hair on either side of his face, without the chops, Arthur almost didn’t recognize him. That smooth hair, too short or too long for a real style and the look of pure terror in his eyes along with even the shape of that nose… hell he knew who this was.

“You hurt?”

“Huh?”

The man didn’t stop cowering enough to really pay attention to the question.

“I said are you hurt.”

After a nervous swallow, Arthur got a shake of the head. “No, no just bruises I think, nothing, nothing broken. Thank… Thank…”

Arthur didn’t have enough time to talk this all out here, and it wasn’t safe to do that here anyway. “You gotta place to stay?”

“I…” Eyes dropped to the ground. “I mean not…”

He looked underweight, dirty and edgy, like a kicked puppy. “Come with me, and hurry up or we won’t make the bus.” Arthur hated the goddamn bus, but he’d best not be extra late when John saw what he brought home. This way, he could at least say he took the bus and mean it. Arthur turned to hurry towards the station, hearing footsteps follow behind him.

“Sir. I ain’t, I ain’t got any money. They, you see…”

“My name’s Arthur, and yeah I get it. You got mugged. Hurry up.”

He heard the other one stop suddenly, but then run forward to catch-up as the bus pulled up. Arthur gave the driver exact change, and he took a seat upfront on the nearly empty vehicle. 

“Thank, thank you mister. Mister Arthur. I’m, well I have a few names I guess…”

Arthur sighed. “Just Arthur, and I know who you are.” John was going to be more than pissed. He’d had some patience with the stories about the past before, a past John didn’t seem to know about at all but none of those came with another body, another mouth to feed and even back then, John Marston had only a mild tolerance for men like Kieran Duffy.


	2. Chapter 2 – Introducing John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur came home with a friend, and not exactly a surprise to anyone, John's not happy about it. Also, Kieran just blocked the one thing John really, really cares about. Recovery from that might prove difficult.

When John woke up this morning, he hated the world, just like every morning, just like every time the sun blasted him in the face because Arthur stood out on their balcony and smoked one of his two cigarettes for the day while leaving their cheap blinds open. He’d told Abigail weeks again they both quit, but the fact was Arthur struggled to ditch the habit completely, so John just let him stand out there and let too hot or too cold air into the bedroom. It wasn’t like it was a pleasant air either, just a dirty too many cars, too many nearby factories and just filth that came with a fully developed city air. The older man always came in though, closed the balcony door and locked it, and then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and swish before giving John a just little too long, warm and heartfelt kiss that left his innards singing. All was forgiven then, and it almost always sweetened a sour mood, especially since it was followed by the only meal they got to share together on overlapping work days, breakfast. Two eggs, one toast for John, two for Arthur, orange juice or coffee, never both. It’s what his carefully crafted budget allowed, and for a treat, bacon on Friday or Saturday. John still had to hunt for that to be on sale though and would take an extra bus trip to get it. 

He glanced at the clock on their nightstand and entered the shower, reminding himself to keep it under fifteen minutes. If it were up to him, it’d be closer to ten but Arthur said he had to wash his hair, every day, so he did, using a minute amount of soap and shampoo just to keep his lover happy and supposedly his boss although no one ever said anything about his hair except Arthur. Sure maybe it got a little stringy sometimes, and darker than usual, but it never smelled, never! Heck John even tried to cut shampoo from the budget; they could use bar soap just fine but his man not only insisted they use shampoo and conditioner like regular people, it turned out to be one of the few things Arthur didn’t mind going to the store for because the dollar store purchase John made last time for it was just not appreciated by the blonde. For someone of simple tastes, the tall, well made man sure seemed picky about his bathroom products. John would probably get a black eye for calling him anything close to metro, so he just stuck to telling others Arthur had particulars about the things that had to do with skin or hair care. It made him smile most days though, gave him something to linger on while the hot water just sprayed down his back. His Arthur worked hard, liked his son and his ex, had a lot of basic tastes otherwise and had a lot of great qualities; it was the kind of thing John had to remind himself about the few times that other thing came up, the stories, the explanations, the little tidbits that reminded him that Arthur might just be a little bit bat shit crazy.

They’d met in the library a few years ago, with Arthur checking our sections of history, and John pretending he did any sort of reading. At the time, he’d just been looking for a bathroom, hopefully a clean one while he waited to find out what Abigail intended to demand from him this time. So sure, he feigned interest in cowboys and Native Americans, looking at wild west pictures and stuff because a man with gorgeous eyes, just a little too long blonde hair and a body that wouldn’t be ignored just sort of stared at him suddenly, like he was really, really expecting him to know anything about westerns. Except it wasn’t that all. After a number of outings John hard pushed into dates because Arthur was sure resistant to that at first, and a few nights later, he started hearing hints that Arthur not only believed in reincarnation, but he was damn sure the four of them had history together only John didn’t remember, neither did Abigail, and Jack was so young he’d believe he was the sheriff if someone just told him was. It scared him back then, so bad he just left them all thinking he’d fallen into some sort of nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. The man of his dreams was nuts.

Oh he knew it broke Abigail’s heart, hurt Arthur something bad and Jack, well he looked at him like was a stranger when he came back, but somehow they managed to patch it all together again. Arthur even took him back in when he said he wouldn’t, so mostly John felt lucky about all that now, so much so he even humored the man and helped when he got an itch to try and find something else in the library or online about this past he thought they all had. God he still hated it though. That disappointment, that heartache the man got when his lead turned up empty, well it broke John’s heart too. At some point his fear just shifted somehow into something else, a want to protect Arthur from himself, from this ongoing inadequate search, and he just hoped every day that his lover wouldn’t spiral one day and force them into some sort of mental home they couldn’t afford. Neither one of them had jobs that offered much in terms of benefits. Hell John didn’t even have a full day’s work today.

“So you gonna come home after your shift today?”

Arthur joined him at the table with the two plates, opting for coffee though he gave John one of his most annoyed looks. “People typically come home after work John.”

John rolled his eyes and enjoyed a big glass of orange juice. “I know I know, but since I have a half-day that means we’re going to have most the evening together. I figured I’d check, you know, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“You know I don’t like surprises.”

“It’s not a party.” John dug into his eggs. “Never met a man that avoided parties more than you did though.”

Arthur snorted briefly. “Most men are pretty stupid John. I plan to come home after work.”

John grinned. “Good. You’ll like what I have planned.”

Course that was twelve hours ago. John sat on their couch in his birthday suit, a pillow covering his lap and another re-run of some show he didn’t care about playing on their little TV. Arthur assured him there was a time when 32 inches was good and plenty for most homes. Of course John didn’t care. That was small today, but at least the picture was good and illuminated the room well enough by itself. He sat there, having showered after work just to make this even more special, and he got an inch of his hair cut to make it look real nice and here he was with a fucking pillow in his lap, covering his once eager dick trying to figure out how pissed off he should be. Arthur said he would come right home, but he was four almost five hours later and…

The door swung open. Arthur walked in, looking broody and a little too cold. John stood up dropping his pillow to give his roommate and lover a good what for when his eyes shifted from Arthur’s surprised expression to some scrawny and strange looking man behind. 

“Oh... I forgot.” Arthur admitted while John darted for the bedroom, hitting his foot against the coffee table and stumbling forward until he collapsed just inside the door way.

John let out a series of curses while he checked his most precious possession between his legs to make sure he didn’t break it. Good. Okay. This gave Arthur a much better chance of being able to get into the bed tonight.

“Umm John?” Arthur inquired quietly from just behind him.

John glowered at the bed, his chin resting against the old but mostly clean carpet. “Yeah Arthur?” He asked more calmly than he felt. 

“I brought home a friend.”

“I see that.”

Arthur must’ve sensed a trap because he stood just outside of John’s ability to reach him with arms or legs. “I sort of found him in some trouble. He needs a place to stay for a little while.”

At this point John would’ve rolled over to tell Arthur exactly what was on his mind, but he was a naked, and while not exactly shy there was a strange man in their apartment. “So you brought him here? They have shelters for that, you know.”

“You know those places can run out of beds, besides Kieran here is harmless.”

John turned his head and got a real good look at his companion, his lover and the goddamn idiot that brought someone from the street into their home. “You’re not about to tell me he’s one of those people from your dreams?”

Arthur scowled and turned to go to the kitchen, no doubt to offer the man something from their small budget to eat. “Don’t fucking call them that. You know they’re not dreams.”

John growled, pushed himself up and grabbed the blanket from their bed, so he could walk out there looking like only half the clown he felt. “He is isn’t he?”

Arthur flat out ignored him. “Kieran let me make you a sandwich. Do you want peanut butter and jelly, maybe bologna and cheese, or we have…” He glanced at John’s tight face and wisely decided not to offer him that last of their turkey which he put right back on the shelf.

“Bologna would be nice, no, no cheese. I’m not a big fan of cheese.”

John gave this Kieran a look that could wither a plant. This Kieran looked dirty, sounded weak, could probably use at least another twenty pounds on his bones, but somehow this Kieran managed to be picky, and helpless at the same time? What the hell did Arthur manage to bring home here?

There’d be no sex tonight, but somehow, when Arthur joined him later and mumbled something about their guest sleeping on the couch and watching TV, it was John that felt punished about that.


	3. Chapter 3 – Dutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are other's out there with their memories intact, but what they're doing with the knowledge might not just surprise others but themselves.

Dutch relaxed on a large recliner, watching a fireplace image on a large screen TV on the second floor of his flat drinking scotch on the rocks, a hand resting on one of the oversized arms. It’d been a long journey to get to where he was today, owning his own business, having a flat in a relatively commercial but peaceful part of the city, but he didn’t have what he wanted, what he needed. The plan continued moving forward although he almost cringed at acknowledging that thought, that once again he was a man with a plan. This time would be different, this time the losses would not come to fruit.

He ran a large hand over a well-defined, some would say large, nose and fingers traveled along his dark mustache, even played slightly with his goatee as he thought through the next day. Every day he felt like maybe he needed to push just a little bit more, search harder, reach out to others whose voices he hadn’t heard from in too long, but now wasn’t the time. Now he had to be a patient, real patient and watchful and…

A knock on the door made him stand up, tighten a deep grey robe over his jeans and simple black shirt. He approached the door cautiously because this wasn’t exactly a place where someone had neighbors. It was a commercial building near the water which was nice most the time, maybe a little annoying when a large barge came in. Cautiously he opened the door and peered at a too familiar and not exactly wanted face, one etched in memory like an old carving.

“Dutch?”

“O’Driscoll.” He replied tensely, his rich voice easily charismatic to most, icy and tense now.

The man looked tired, pulled a filthy brown cap from his equally unfortunate black hair and the green eyes seemed challenged to focus on Dutch’s face. He was younger than Dutch remembered him, the sun not so unkind on his cheeks and forehead. He’d always been tough handsome, even then, but those eyes were never as sharp as his brother’s, never as thirsty for blood either. The stench… it was if the man hadn’t washed in days, maybe weeks, and his clothes looked as if they sat on the side of the road, for weeks. His unwelcome guest staggered a little, had to free one hand from hat to steady himself in the doorframe, and the gaze didn’t hold Dutch’s unwavering glare for long. 

“Yes.” The other man confirmed needlessly. “You see I’ve traveled a long ways to see you. I was hoping, really hoping I might get some help. You see my brother…”

“You…” Dutch took a deep breath, using every muscle in his nearing middle-aged body not to strangle this man at his doorstep, a man he hadn’t seen in this life but even the limited memory threatened to install and unleash within him pent up rage. “Your brother Colm, Colm O’Driscoll? Son, do you even remember who I am?”

“You’re, you’re Dutch van der Linde. I remember who you are?” His weak voiced stuttered with uncertainty, maybe even sounded hurt to have to answer that question.

Dutch leaned forward slightly, searching for and finally locking the man into a real gaze. “And you remember what I did, what I did to you Braeden O’Driscoll?”

Braeden swallowed nervously, glancing away, his brow furrowing with those fine eyes looking almost sad. The hand holding himself steady against the doorway began to tremble. “Yes, Yes sir. See I heard you…”

“Don’t call me sir. I work for a living, and I’m not military.”

“Okay.” Came the whispered reply. “See I heard you help people out who are down on their luck, even with records and I need...”

Dutch didn’t let him finish. He raised his chin and his voice. “Son, look at me when you’re talking to me.”

The green eyes rose to meet his rich hazelnut eyes. 

“And you remember I killed you from before?”

Braeden lowered his eyes again, clearly unable to maintain any sort of steady contact for long. “That was, that was a long time ago. I’m sure you had your reasons, and, and it was a clean kill. Colm wouldn’t have shown that kind of mercy; he weren’t a good man. It’s just I need some help.”

“Oh he wasn’t. He made Anabelle suffer before she died, real painful death.” Dutch refused to be sucked into that particular memory, not now at least, not with this filth before him.

Braeden lifted his eyes to meet Dutch’s. The slight change in shadows and light revealed the younger man’s cheeks were sunken, his skin a little too clammy, white and unhealthy. Braeden’s shoulders began to sag. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. I was, well I was dead.”

“Your line of viciousness was not as passive as you are trying to claim now. So you came to your killer to ask for help?”

“Not everyone remembers as well as you do, we do I guess. I was just hoping, well we worked together once before all that. Colm don’t remember all that, lots but you see…”

“And Colm was a real piece of work, betrayed me, put all of mine in danger, and went on to try and destroy us. He send you now too?”

“No!” Somehow Braeden managed to finally speak above just more than a whisper, and his eyes became a little more desperate and wild. “He, he never liked me much. Said I was too dumb then for jobs and said it now too. He went to prison last I heard, cast me out before because I wasn’t smart enough. Other men inside said you, you sometimes help others. I’ve walked a long ways Dutch, days… maybe weeks. I just need some help, some water maybe some…” Braeden’s eyes rolled up into his skull, his limbs became slack, and he would’ve hit the floor hard if Dutch hadn’t caught him like he did. Gently, too gently really the older man ran his fingers along the other man’s brow, regarding the unconscious man before him while struggling with something inside. That darkness, the inkling he pushed down year after year, the ambition and the revenge driven light easily quashed again as he reminded himself of his goal, of his plan and the kind of person he’d not only become but intended, truly wanted to remain. He was not on his path for his enemies, but for the others, for the family. He took a deep breath.

Within a few minutes Dutch discarded the robe to the floor, grabbed a nearby coat and keys and carefully loaded Braeden into his truck, cautious of that man’s head, to take him to the hospital. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing helping an O’Driscoll, especially one he remembered taking out himself. If he truly was a different man from then, and in this date and age, when a man passed out at your home you took him to get help instead of finding a place to hide the body. At the very least this might just be the little bit of final proof he needed, the kind of proof to say he’d change even if this complicated… everything.

As Dutch carefully but quickly pulled away from the water district, a slight smile managed to form because this answered a few lingering questions he’d had for some time now, like how many others had their memories left intact like he had, like Braeden had and goddamn it, if so many of them had it, why didn’t his boys?


	4. Chapter 4 – Tiny Broken Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deals with the unexpected and sudden changes or unexpected arrivals in their lives differently. 
> 
> ::yeah summaries are not my strength::

Braeden slowly opened his eyes, seeing the white of the pillow underneath his head before he felt the unusual softness. It felt like it’d been years since he had something so clean against his skin. He wondered, if only for a moment, if Dutch brought him into the house. Then he blinked a few times and noticed the squared off-white paneling broken up by unfeeling lights and briefly glanced to the side to see a nearby window, the drab curtains closed. Next to the window rested a square chair with beige cushions, empty. His heart sank, emerald eyes closed as he felt tears well-up in the corners of his lids. It’d been a long shot, a last chance, his only hope really, and he felt all the more stupid for it. Dutch remembered, maybe all of it or only some, but enough for him to hate Colm and to hate him. He’d been cold back then, cruel and merciless, a real killer and a rabid dog without a leash. No one who remembered that would ever give him a chance. Gently he lifted his hand, noting an IV in his arm but what surprised him more was the cleanliness of the skin there, his nails no longer black with grime. His head didn’t itch anymore, and he supposed the staff here had to clean him some before they could stick anything in him. Just then he heard the toilet flush, and Dutch emerged from a closed door with a folded newspaper in hand. 

“It’s small but private. How are you feeling son?”

Braeden raised a hand to quickly wipe away the moisture from his eyes before it could fall. “A little light headed. I… I only sort of remember what happened. You stayed?” He kept his voice quiet, tried to remove any sort of pathetic weakness, as Colm used to call it without letting his voice seem hostile or cold which was harder than he remembered. Most people ignored him as he was, so any real conversation felt foreign after so many months without it.

“Not for long I’m afraid. I have a business to run.” The larger man pulled his chair up to the bed, but he didn’t reach out or touch him. “They said you probably hadn’t eaten in a few days and not properly for probably weeks if not longer. Your IVs are hydrating you, giving you some nutrients. You just passed out from.” Dutch waved his hands briefly. “Well I guess just not having anything in your system.”

Braeden glanced down and nodded. 

When he didn’t say anything in return Dutch continued, and if memory served him right, the man always liked to talk as if there weren’t enough time in the world to allow for silence. “They cleaned you up, took care of that lice problem you had and wrapped a few of your wounds that weren’t healing right. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I made some mistakes.” Maybe he could tell Dutch more, when they weren’t in this place, when he knew there would be a reason to. 

“I see.” The disappointment and judgment dripped from Dutch’s tongue. “They want to keep you overnight, make sure you’re recovering they said. The nurse will probably be here in…” The man glanced down at his watch. “Oh another twenty minutes or so.”

“I don’t have any way to pay these people.” It was all Braeden managed to say, and he felt pretty useless for it too. He should be saying more, asking something, explaining, but he just felt so down, lacking any amount of energy or confidence.

“Oh don’t worry about that. It won’t take much convincing that you don’t have anything to give considering the way you showed up here.”

Braeden kept silent.

“Look at me.” When he didn’t respond, Dutch repeated himself. “I said look at me.”

Reluctantly Braeden raised his eyes to meet Dutch’s hard gaze.

“Now neither you nor your brother ever had the kind of patience to starve yourself for weeks, maybe longer, just to provoke or trap me. I figure you’re not ready to tell me what really happened just yet, but I AM a patient man.” He stood. “If everything is fine the rest of today and your labs are good, you should be released tomorrow morning. I’ll be by to pick you up then.”

Braeden felt his heart beat just a little faster, a glimmer of hope threatened to break through all the rigid cold inside him. “You’re, you’re coming back?” He knew it was just another stupid question. Colm always said he’d be coming back even when he wasn’t. Dutch had every reason to lie to him now considering he told him almost nothing, and he owed him nothing. It would just avoid a scene, although really Braeden didn’t have much of a plan to convince the man otherwise. Planning he didn’t do, never really could muster much of an idea together, or at least that’s what he was told.

Dutch locked eyes with him, and they remained silent for a little bit until the man repeated himself. “I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.”

And that was that, Dutch gave a brief nod and left Braeden alone in his hospital room. 

Braeden watched the door close and leaned back with a heavy sigh. It’d be senseless to think that man would come back for him, another notch in a long line of foolish expectations, but he had to let this spark of faith settle inside him. There was room at least because nothing else resided in there. He fell asleep a few minutes later.

**

Arthur made breakfast that morning. One egg for each of them, one piece of toast and coffee all around, and the entire time he felt John’s dark eyes burning holes in his back. Normally John slept in, woke up to take his shower while breakfast was made but today was different. Today Arthur made breakfast a little late because Kieran took his time in the shower, and John watched that damn clock like somehow he could stop time and erase the fact that that young man probably hadn’t had a nice hot shower in a number of days now. Kieran weren’t filthy or anything, but his clothes had seen better days, he had bruises from his mugging and a real strange way of trying to avoid his eyes. He couldn’t tell if the man remembered anything from before, from their previous life, but with John’s mood the way it was, he tried hard to avoid that sort of conversation while his lover was within earshot. 

Mostly they ate breakfast in silence, and Arthur set Kieran’s meal in the oven to keep it warm because he was kind of taking a long time, but that would ease up he figured, once Kieran realized the shower wasn’t going anywhere. John, on the other hand, was not someone who could easily settle on his own. They needed to break the silence, try and navigate through this, and of course he’d have to be the one to reach out because John remained too childish and stubborn to do it himself. 

After a couple of bites of egg, Arthur gave his first go; it usually took more than one try. “John, you gotta stop glaring at the boy. I know it’s going to be hard…" John’s eyes shot up from his plate to glare right at him, and Arthur winced instinctively because something he’d just said triggered his lover.

“No Arthur.” Came a cool but surprisingly level voice. “Hard is what I was last night, waiting for you to come home, for us to spend an evening together, almost a full evening after who knows how long. Hard was what the floor felt like when I hit it trying to run to the bedroom because you brought a stranger home without telling me. Hard is what it’s going to take to make our budget work with another person added to it.”

“John…”

“And if he spends one more fucking minute in that shower I’m going to...”

“Hey, Hey. We’re trying to work on our language remember.” Arthur reached across the small table and grabbed the one hand John didn’t have gripping the fork, really hoping the fiery younger man wouldn’t just up and stab him with it when their fingers entwined. “It’ll be okay.”

“Okay? Okay!” John nearly reached his shouting volumes. “How is this okay? How are you going to go to work today, a full shift of hard work, running on one lousy egg and a single piece of toast?”

“Shhh.” Arthur whispered trying to encourage John to lower his voice too. “Don’t say things like that. Kieran might feel guilty if he hears something like that, and he just needs this more than I do. I’ll be fine John. I’ve gone without before, and thanks to your budget, that hasn’t happened in a long time now.”

John’s eyes narrowed, not at all taking the compliment. “And exactly when did our budget become my budget?”

Arthur sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just trying to give you credit for…”

“For pulling us out of the goddamn hole when I cut up your credit cards, so you’d stop spending money we didn’t have.”

That hurt. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true; it just felt like a low blow about a settled issue. He worked hard to do better, and never put John on those cards. Only his credit was shot, not John’s. Arthur slowly withdrew his hand and found a spot on the table to frown at. “We’re almost done with those payments. I did my best John… I didn’t know any better then, and you know that.” Don’t get discouraged, Arthur reminded himself. This was John, John lashing out at the unexpected and unwanted like a petulant child, and he knew, even as it hurt to hear it, that the younger man didn’t really mean for his words to wound like they did. 

By the time Arthur’s eyes raised from table, he saw regret immediately in those fiery dark eyes, and the anger began to seep out of them. At this point John probably tried to search for some explanation or apology, and might’ve got there if Kieran didn’t suddenly emerge looking cleaned-up, refreshed… and wearing one of John’s shirts and jeans complete with a belt to keep them from falling off his thin frame. “Thank you Arthur that felt, well that felt great.”

John’s dark eyes narrowed slightly and shot right back at Arthur. The larger man took a swig of coffee and tried his best to balance this. “You’re welcome Kieran. I would’ve given you some of my clothes, but I got maybe hundred pounds on you, and even if John here is built stronger up than you, he’s still closer to your size.” Cautiously Arthur glanced at John, hoping his partner would just take that explanation and let it drop for now. Mostly John did, focusing back on his breakfast. “John and I need to get our showers, so you can get your breakfast out of the oven, should still be warm, and we’ll talk when we’re done.” Wanting no arguments, Arthur just walked over to John, grabbed him by shirt and gave a hard yank, meaning either the younger man would come with him or just the shirt, ruining the shirt. Of course John complied, rising from the chair and followed into the bathroom after which Arthur quietly closed the door. “Try to keep your voice low, so Kieran doesn’t hear every word when you start yelling at me.”

John folded his arms like he was torn between admitting Arthur knew him so well or just behaving. “I’m not even going to get sex out of this am I?”

Arthur’s cheeks warmed and no doubt turned color almost immediately. The very idea of doing that in the shower with Kieran out there just gratefully eating his breakfast…

“I knew it!” John exclaimed. “You’re going to get all shy on me, like when were first dating and just touching hands in the goddamn coffee shop made you uncomfortable. As long as that man…”

“Kieran.” Arthur corrected quietly.

“As long as Kieran stays with us, I’m not going to get any action, and he’s going to just eat and what Arthur, what exactly do you plan on doing with him?”

Green eyes vanished behind lids for a moment while Arthur tried to gather his thoughts and think, really think of a good way to calm John down so his warmer and more reasonable side might overcome this reactionary monster in front of him. “John.” He began. “You know that wasn’t the reason I was not sure about starting a relationship with you…”

John didn’t let him finish and walked towards the shower waving a hand. “Don’t start babbling on about being brothers before. It’s nonsense Arthur. We’re not brothers, and there is nothing incestuous about our relationship.”

Arthur followed him and began undressing as John did, his heart beating a little too fast and his stomach clenching at hearing John dismiss his beliefs, again. A part of him knew, absolutely knew that the things he said… well a lot of people weren’t really receptive to reincarnation or the idea of a past memory. John took it mostly well if he excused the year when he just ran from everything, but it hurt, like a knife in his gut every time the younger man rejected it. He turned on the water and put their good towels on the countertop, looking at them a little too long while the water took only a moment to heat up. John shopped for things like this, in second hand stores, antique shops as well as yard and garage sales. They both knew the brunette hated it too, each trip taking a bite out of his self-esteem and sense of worth. Their dollars needed to stretch, so whenever John wallowed in his sulky nature, the little things reminded Arthur what most people outside this apartment never got to see, his effort, his shame and the warmth that would shine if given just a few more moments than others to reveal that sort of thing. So when he stepped into the shower and John joined him, the first thing he did was raise a hand to his lover’s neck and kiss him. “Close your eyes.”

John complied of course, letting Arthur wash his long hair, really just massage the shampoo in there before giving the thin strands a good rinse. For the next few minutes he worked just worked a washcloth along the other man’s body, feeling and seeing tense muscles ease up, hearing John’s breathing calm despite the hum of the shower itself and finally John whispered to him. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Arthur replied quietly. He spent some time on himself but never stepped too far back from John. John needed assurances right now, being just a couple steps away from panic and despair. And for now, he ignored their little timed plan and let the water run longer so he could just embrace John and whisper against his ear. “We’ll find a way John. We always do.”

Arms wrapped around Arthur’s broad body; John placed his forehead against his left shoulder and whispered. “I hate this life.”

“Mmm.” Arthur turned the water off and stroked his hair gently again. “We just gotta look at what we have John.”

“You’re not fooling me. You’re not happy either.”

He wouldn’t lie, not to John at least even if it was true. With Jack coming over in a few days, Kieran showing up alive and not exactly well but at least okay, and a job that still paid Arthur just managed to stay strong on hope and second chances. “Well I’m happy that you’ve settled down, and I don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

John snorted. “I did that to you once Arthur, once, and you’re still talking about it. Besides, Kieran’s sleeping on our lovemaking couch. It’ll never be the same again.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’re not going to be celibate anytime soon John. Just promise you’ll be nice to him when I go to work. He hasn’t done a thing to you, just needs some help; he got mugged last night. You’ll like him just fine. I don’t think you ever felt anything against him except a little annoyed anyhow.”

With a light sigh John leaned back so their eyes could meet. “I hate it when you do that, talk about me in the past tense about things that don’t…” 

He must’ve paused because Arthur tensed up and felt a deep sadness threaten to fill his heart which reflected with his expression. Some days he felt so alone, being the only one to remember as he did. 

“Well it doesn’t matter. I’ll do my best Arthur. You better not linger too long after work though. I can’t promise I can spend a whole evening with him and not say something you won’t like.” 

John let him down easy this time, and Arthur felt grateful for it. “Just one drink and I’ll come home. I promise John.”

The smile he received for that filled him with enough warmth he figured a light breakfast would hardly be noticed.


	5. Chapter 5 – Second Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reacts, and he reacts strongly and fiercely for and against what's going on around him and his. Deep down though, maybe, just maybe there's a reason other tend to love him. Maybe he just shows with actions what he doesn't know how to say with words.

After Arthur went to work, only granting John a quick peck on the cheek because Kieran sat dumbly on their couch and there was not a chance in hell the older man would give him more than that with an audience around, John tried to focus on the next steps. He knew Arthur too well to try petty attempts to chase this bean pole away, and his lover remained too smart to not figure out any lies or convincing that might make this Kieran vacate the apartment would’ve come from him. This man was their new reality; John was just stuck. This left him only one path to take, helping solve their new roommates issues, one problem at a time, the exact same method he’d used to crawl out of their spiraling debt largely due to Arthur’s shrugs and figuring it out later attitude, and John’s, well, he didn’t hold onto jobs so well.

Kieran sat their nervously in clothes clearly too large for him, trying not to look at John, his eyes too wide and staring at TV that wasn’t on. This guy seemed squirrely on every level, even managing to twitch just sitting there. Outlaws, Morgan said, a gang of outlaws. How the hell would someone like this wind up with a gang out outlaws, and why didn’t he go into detail with this one like he did with some of the others, the men he called Hosea and Dutch, some Mexican with a guitar or an Englishman who wound up being one of their best informants? Where did Kieran fit into all this? No. No he couldn’t risk asking this guy and tip off the fact Arthur was kind, well, cracked, and he couldn’t ask Arthur because that was just encouraging the delusion. He’d have to start this as he often did, on his own, figuring it all out as he went. First thing was first though.

After nodding to himself a couple of times, John grabbed his worn leather wallet, his keys and glanced outside deciding a jacket would be best. “So Kieran, I’m going to need you to make yourself scarce for just a couple of hours. I gotta get somewhere, but I’ll be back to let you back in.”

Immediately Kieran stood, playing with the extra-long belt around his waist. “Listen John, if, if you don’t want me here. I mean I don’t have to…”

“That’s not how this works.” John replied without too much bite behind the words. “Arthur wants you here, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d be here when I get back, or I’m not going to hear the end of it. I promise Kieran; I’m coming back to let you in so you can stay the night here.” He cared too much for Arthur to put his relationship at risk over this setback. If the man wound up murdering them in their sleep, well he hoped the man upstairs would at least give him a chance to tell Arthur ‘I told you so.’

Nervously Kieran glanced at the window. “Where, where do I go?”

Good question, John thought, but he had an answer immediately. “There’s a park just a couple of blocks down. At this time of day there won’t be anyone but old crazy people waiting around for the couple of pigeons too stupid to find a better place to eat.”

Kieran blinked at him like some sort of imbecile. John sighed, reached for his wallet and pulled out five dollars. They couldn’t really afford to use this, but their budget was shot to hell anyway; Arthur seen to that, again, so they’d be dipping into savings, what little they had, no matter what.

“John…”

God, why did so many people start with his name on their lips a like that? Was he really that volatile that they had to say it like they were talking to a bull about to rage? Bull… where did that come from. John frowned and opened the door. “Come on Kieran. It’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll even walk you over to Arthur’s favorite bench.”

And John did just that, leading Kieran to the place where sometimes Arthur would go on his days off and just sit there, looking at a dirty river, watching old men and women feed fat stupid birds and just breathe like the air was any better down here than it was up there. Sometimes though, John felt more than a little jealous that the man just had this ability to shutout the world around him like that. He’d never used that ability against John though, not really. Sure, sure John accused Arthur of tuning him out now and then, but Arthur managed to do what he did last night too often, just let John have at it, just let him say his piece and go on and on and at the end just calm him down like it was nothing. He didn’t deserve Arthur. John knew that. He’d worked so hard getting the man with an obsession about the past because of his fine eyes that seemed to be so blue one minute and then just a hint of green another, a man with a presence he couldn’t describe too. It was like Arthur drawn to him, the first moment he’d lied eyes on him, and there was no explaining that. So yeah, leading Kieran to one of Arthur’s favorite spots, a place where his lover might forget he was in the city for a minute, seemed the right thing to do.

After making sure Kieran knew were the local vendors were, the bathroom and convincing himself that even a man like Kieran would have a hard time getting mugged in open daylight there, John took a bus a number of blocks away and walked with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, trying to run numbers through his head. The boss was mad at him, again, so his hours were short this week. He hadn’t been written up though, and showed up on time, locked everything up when he left, so he figured he had to get to more than annoyance with the man before he wound up firing him. So they were a little under, but not behind on anything these days which meant Arthur’s insistence on picking up shifts might keep them close to even with just enough to get… fuck that clinic trip. He went in because Arthur insisted he get that couch checked and now what? Now what!? 

By then John turned the corner with numbers still jumbled in his head so when he looked up to see the store he came to visit, Miss Molly’s Treasures, he stopped in surprise but also relief. It was a small store that sold second hand items, refuse to some and treasures to others. After almost a year of going to stores and not liking them, he wound up here in this unimposing small place because it carried a number of interesting antiques but also useful items. He’d never met Molly though, just one of her clerks most days, Mary-Beth.

Mary-Beth made John smile, easily, listened to him talk about stupid things and never asked him too many questions about his partner. Oh she knew he had a live in boyfriend that he bragged and bitched about without ever using Arthur’s name. Other times he talked about silly things, mundane things, but mostly he just felt, well like they connected easily for some reason. She came from the South, she said, moved north for a chance to get into school but managed to mess it up due to a few bad boyfriend choices. She had really soft hair; he knew because she let him touch it, and it reminded him a little of running his fingers through fresh brown sugar because she put some sort of product on it to keep it in place. With only a little make-up in place, her freckles showed easily around her nose, cheeks and chin, and she had blue eyes too. They weren’t like Arthur’s though, not so stunning, not so… steady but they were soft like the rest of her and often pointed at some book. It’s what she did most days, for hours, read at the counter waiting for customers. And one of the best things about her was how she took care of everything and everyone, keeping things neat and tidy, even showed John how to tie a bow-tie because Jack dressed up for a school picture once and said he really wanted one for that. His son was… odd at times. For now, Abigail didn’t blame him for that like she blamed him for everything else, but he couldn’t help but wonder if having a loser father took a hard toll on a kid so young.

When he walked through the door, setting off the tiny bell above it, the store felt like it always did, old but tidy, stuffy but the fans kept the air circulating. There were old pocket watches, cloth fans, and fake jewelry alongside a handful of CDs, a couple of statues of unicorns, and three or four stuffed bears. He liked this place because there weren’t many people here, and he didn’t feel like he was digging through junk alongside other people just looking for something good, trying not to make eye contact with someone else, trying to pretend they all wouldn’t rather be buying something new somewhere else.

“John.” Mary-Beth set down one of her small romance books, one with a naked chested man of course, with a bright smile.

He already felt the tension from last night and this morning ease a bit as he walked towards her. “So is the woman’s loins burning for a pirate this time, or maybe a dashing lord with a sad rich fate… maybe a troublemaker?”

Mary-Beth laughed lightly. “A slave actually. She’s a very proper woman in ancient Rome but has fallen head over heels for a newly acquired slave. It really is quite fun. You should try it.”

He shook his head. “Most nights I am fine with what I got at home. He’s usually more than willing once we settle for the night. Usually…”

“Your man does sound accommodating. What do you think he’d say if he knew you were talking about him with me?”

John wondered around the tightly packed shelves, noting the added items and old favorites gone. There was just not much room to move round, and well, he was surprised most people didn’t rob the place except she really was sweet, it was off the road a bit and what kid would want an old Raggedy Andy doll anyway? Like always, it was in good condition. They wouldn’t take just anything here. “Oh he’d hate it, might even be furious, especially if he found out my admiration for his stamina left our room. I’m telling you MB, it’s like the man was born to ride…. All day long.”

Mary-Beth giggled. “I see. Well that sounds like a fine line for a book. I’m going to jot it down if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Actually it would be something else if she wound up writing something, anything he said in a real book. 

“So what can I get for you today John? I wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks at least.”

John sighed, approached the counter and ran his fingers over the old solid wood. It felt and look real which is maybe why he liked this place more than the rummaging through tossed out crap that larger stores offered. He wondered, more than once, how she could be feel so relaxed in a place towering with so much stuff though, that only had some light coming in from the windows, and to have people bothering her all day. “Yeah, well something unexpected happened, and I’m looking for some things. I’m hoping you might have some clothes, pants and shirts mostly, someone thinner than me, a little taller, nothing fancy just… you know.”

She gave a quick nod. “Well let’s go look together. I got an idea of what you want. It’s going to be a little out of style but nothing too bad, not like from the sixties or anything like that.”

For a moment, John’s eyes dropped because he knew he needed to remind her of something just, well just in case the stuff was really nice. “I don’t, well I don’t have much this time. I just, well…”

“Oh it’s okay John. It’s just clothes. We pay very little for that sort of thing, and they don’t get much in return. People who want to get a lot for clothes sell it to the boutiques or this big box places. We mostly get them out of convenience when they bring in something special Molly likes to sell. Don’t tell anyone I said this but if we can’t sell stuff like this in a few months, I think she comes in here and takes it some place to donate to make room for the other stuff.”

John smiled slowly. Maybe she was lying to make him feel better. It almost, well sometimes it just seemed like she could, could really pull one over if she wanted to. The thing was, he was willing today. He wanted her to tell him things that he wanted to hear, truth or not. It just made it a little easier to part ways with a few hours of earnings for a man he didn’t even know because the man he loved would, well after last night, he owed Arthur at least chance to make this work.

They spent the next hour digging through the shelves, trunks and racks towards the back while they talked about what it might be like to live in the country someday, away from it all where it was quiet. For reasons neither of them really understood, it seemed like it might be a good idea to have a horse or two although neither had ever seen one in person. John said he even had a name ready for his, Old Boy.


	6. Chapter 6 – A Better Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man with a plan can be a dangerous thing or, or maybe it's just the thing someone needs to brought into the fold.

Dutch felt hurried, late and not at all appreciated. Too many of his business partners took the flexibility of his warehouse and crew for granted, showing up past allotted times, arriving with unlisted cargo and ultimately trying his patience. After he straightened that out, asking two of his best men to stay late, he arrived to pick up his order at a local store, and it turned out they lost it. This easily burned twenty if not more minutes making him well past an hour late to pick up Braeden.

If he was honest with himself, he’d admit to having second thoughts about going to get the man. Braeden was… damaged. Whatever occurred in the other’s past life where he’d been a violent monster, an individual with lethal compulsion and a sick twisted sense of humor that rivaled Colm’s seemed vanquished now, but there WAS some truth to what he observed between the two brothers then which could actually explain Braeden’s descent. Braeden followed his brother’s lead, and even doing as he was told, enjoying whatever sick pleasures the man had as a leader in that gang, Colm never really liked his brother and certainly didn’t love him. He wasn’t sure Colm ever knew what love was which very likely meant that Braeden didn’t ever know either, and now here was a lost man, without purpose, without love. For all his flaws, for all his failures, Dutch felt love and showed as well as knew the loss of those dear to him, those he cherished. No matter what his boys might say one day, no matter how harsh and challenging those conversations might be, he took discarded children from the streets, one that was growing strong and big and easily turning towards becoming the heartless, ruthless misfit society demanded he become right up until they hung him before the age of twenty, or he found a fight he couldn’t win. John, his John, barely knew a world without hunger and hate and well maybe, maybe he didn’t teach them everything, but he and Hosea taught them so much while starting with so little that Braeden reminded him of both of them.

This Braeden, this O’Driscoll, had already been broken down, his story still unknown and his willingness to talk almost non-existent. The younger man searched for him for a reason, and Dutch strongly believed they were all meant to come together to correct past mistakes, to remedy failures that destroyed their dreams and family. If they were meant to find one another, if they were drawn to each other like powerful magnets then they WERE meant to try again. Of course the others would be out there and maybe not willing, not prone to faith in him, and Dutch would need to PROVE they were all better and different now. Why not start with an O’Driscoll dropped at his door just when it felt like things were finally, FINALLY, coming together? Why not point to them that he had a plan, a good one, a solid one and unlike before, when something or someone disrupted that plan, he could adapt and do so with compassion and strength?

As the big truck pulled up alongside the far too fanciful entry way for a place designed to heal the sick, he lowered his window to talk to a valet, a boy really just reaching adulthood with a few red pimples on his face, fat still on his cheeks and a nose that remained just a little too big for his face, eager to do his job as he jumped up to greet Dutch. “I’m just here to pick someone up. I expected he’d be waiting out here since he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s kind of tall like me, dirty clothes, and the man probably would not look you in the eye.” Dutch emphasized that last point. There were a lot of sick men who might come around these parts dirty and tall but maybe, maybe just a few of them might actually talk whereas Braeden probably gave a nod to anyone talking to him, at most.

“Oh yeah!” Too loud, by a few volumes, enthusiastic, as eager to please as he was too work, this boy proved most impressive if disappointing in accepting his role in this whole affair. Unless something lurked in the boy’s background, he’d do fine, not end up at Dutch’s business and ultimately be no more remarkable than one of those chiseled bricks he stood on right now, one with some donor’s name etched in it. “There was a guy who waited here oh, probably bout an hour before he walked off. He didn’t call a cab or anything, just sort of walked away. He said they let him out early, but he sure looked something awful when he decided to go.”

He could’ve left it at that, but no spirit, no invisible hand was going to give him his due without at least a little diligence. If Braeden O’Driscoll was meant to find his killer and in doing so find hope, then Dutch would do his best to find him. “Can you tell me which way he went son?”

The boy pointed across the parking lot, towards a street.

Now Dutch didn’t know the area too well, but he’d been here a few time in the past year or so which meant he knew that street led to… nothing. It was just an old neighborhood with houses that looked pristine and others falling to the decay of time and the owners wasting inside. Still he drove that way, having nothing else to go on. Tracking in the city… nonsense. They called that detective work now as there were no tracks to be found, no hints… just pictures and the words of others trying to guide you to a one in a million lost soul. Fortunately, he found his lost soul pretty quickly, sitting on a whitewashed stone bench at the bus stop although he clearly didn’t mean to get on a bus since one just pulled away from the stop and at least another must’ve come before it. Braeden sat on the seat, eerily still, true competition to challenge the dead. Even when he pulled the truck up to the stop, challenging any cop to hassle him for it, Braeden didn’t even lift his head. Dutch lowered the passenger window. “O’Driscoll, climb on in. I had business that couldn’t wait, but we gotta hit another place or two before we get on home.”

Those eyes, those fine shining eyes slowly lifted and blinked at him as if not believing, not daring to hope, that Dutch actually returned like he said he would.

Whether or not this might be followed by tears or a smile, he didn’t know nor allow it to get to that. He needed a body in the seat before the man fell apart. “Hurry up now before some officer feels he wants to get a little more than what our taxes pay him already.”

Braeden stood quickly but hesitantly placed his hand against the truck’s door handle and pulled at it like he wasn’t sure it would open, like he really thought Dutch might be that cruel. Once it did though Braeden climbed in and just sort of sat there stiff, like he was about to be punished for something.

“Pull the door tight, seatbelt on son.”

Dutch’s voice wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t hard either, just… firm. He needed the younger man to follow directions, and of course he did.

Braeden gave the door a securer tug, allowing the warning light to go out. Then he pulled on his seatbelt. Boy did those light nearly multi-color eyes look fatigued and exhausted.

“Why don’t you just rest your head against that window there and try to get some more sleep? We have a little ways to go, and then I’m going to leave you in the car for a while as I conduct business.” Dutch reached over, startling Braeden enough to make the man jump. This made the older man pause for just a moment, noting the instinctual action to back away quickly. He didn’t stop though and pulled out a bottle of water and a deli sandwich from the glove department. “For when you’re hungry, even now if you want.”

Tentatively Braeden took both items and twisted the top off the bottle to take a good long drink before lowering it again and nodding.

“Son.” Dutch began as he pulled into traffic, driving back towards the house and docks. “This is going to be a hell of a lot easier if you start talking again. You could hardly shut-up when I met you at my front door and here you are, not saying a word.”

“Thank you.”

Dutch glanced at him.

“Thank you for, for coming back for me.” It was whispered, a shuddering breath that looked painful to draw, but at least Braeden spoke again.

For now, it’d have to be enough. He WAS a patient man. Anything more could wait until later, and this man, his broken, unusual and desperate man might very well wind up being a key to what he needed, proof that he was a man of this age and not the harsh realities of so many generations ago. “Good enough.”

Dutch glanced once more at the monstrosity of elegance and money in the rearview window. If it weren’t for the fact someone dear to him came to this fine establishment and left in better health and spirits, he might actually hate the arrogance of excess combined with an offering of life saving services. When would civilization ever learn that there was comfort, and then there was comfort? Shaking his head, he drove them near streets close to the water, to the lighter industrial district and pulled over in front of an old factory. “I’m going to be in there for a fair amount of time, just wait here, keep the doors locked and if you need anything… honk.” He wouldn’t leave the keys, not with an O’Driscoll he met yesterday.

Without looking back Dutch entered through the dented metal door into a sizable building, touching his mustache briefly before bellowing into the largely empty space. “Carlyle!”

A rat of a man exited a small space some might call an office because it had a window and a desk against one wall. The door was metal too and just as dented in too many places but still looked at least twenty years younger than the rest of this place. If he hadn’t seen the licenses himself, he’d hardly call this a legitimate business, but he HAD seen them. Carlyle was simply a product of his time, a man who inherited property and business from generations before him, generations of better men who’d seen these docks and these buildings during the glory days of hard work and quick wealth, or at least that is what they called it. Dutch remembered cities differently, when they were emerging against the backdrop of magnificent mountains and vibrant valleys, beautiful rivers quickly covered in smog and filth. The stench certainly improved even if the company rarely did.

“Dutch.” The man himself was short and thin, his skin a chalky white except for the ink staining the tips of his fingertips. Carlyle didn’t move onto computers easily, still preferring written documents and in-person conversations, a relic really which made him inefficient against his peers, unable to compete for larger bids and projects, made him perfect for Dutch’s purposes except one little thing.

“I told you I need those ships at the docks on time. I had men, good men, my two best men, you see, my two best men in that warehouse without work, sitting idle while the dock workers unloaded hours late.”

Carlyle waved a weak hand in his direction as a too quick dismissal. “It arrived; be thankful for that. They’ve had their engine looked at twice in one month. Hmmm.” The older man drew his long tongue over his finger and grabbed a notebook, thumbing through the pages. “Yes, in the repair shop, but he arrived didn’t he, and your men got it ready in time for the morning transfer.”

He had to draw a deep breath to keep from losing his temper as he approached shaking his head. “A half-dozen men, sitting and waiting, my two best men, in overtime, waiting and you tell me to be thankful!?” His voice rose in the end, of course it did.

“Have them clean. There is always cleaning to be done.”

“If it were any cleaner, you could eat off the damn floor.” Dutch almost hissed, almost. He held back. They needed Carlyle, almost as much as the man needed them, almost. “We have discussed this, many times. Other docks, other warehouses require on-time deliveries. At the very least, at the very least...” Dutch motioned with his hands this time, pointing at the massive doors. “We should be able to get a least one or two punctual deliveries every now and then.”

“Bah…” The man sneered but not as a true dismissal.

They’d done this song and dance before, and like before he’d expect to leave with no promises and empty words only to have their next three or four arrive miraculously close to their arrival times and even with paper work in order. He knew, KNEW, the meek little man called his partners, his peers, whomever he needed to call after these little visits in a flurry to placate Dutch always just a little cautious, maybe just a little worried, Dutch might take his business somewhere else. An operation his size, well he just couldn’t commit to larger and more worthwhile operations. No, no his money went elsewhere… went to the plan and not their side business he ran to sustain them for as long as they all needed sustaining. This was not the end goal and could not consume all his efforts.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Carlyle waved towards a stack of folders. “I have more business, more. See.”

Dutch approached the stack, picking up the first folder and giving it a glance. “I’ll need more for this. I will not, will NOT be put in a position to hire men and not have actual work for them Carlyle. How sure, how absolutely sure are you that you can get this business?”

Small eyes peered up at Dutch. It was true, he was not a small man, had been tall and strong, his arms sporting muscles as if he worked with his hands because he did. Yes, he sat in an office, worked from a couch or bed, walked into these rat holes to make deals but when it came to lifting, he’d lift; when it came to talking, he’d talk, and when it came to taking risks, he took the risks that needed taking. He knew full well Carlyle was intimated by his presence and word even before he squeaked out an assurance. “It won’t be like last time. I, I know better now. It’s practically a done deal.”

“Good.” Dutch leaned over ever so slightly. “Very good. Make sure of it.” His threat, it meant something, even now.

They’d spend the next hour going over the needs of each shipment and their planned arrivals. Dutch used a stylus on his phone to jot down notes like man hours, shifts needed and space. They’d be in trouble if any arrived far too early or far too late as his warehouse would not easily accommodate more than few drops at a time. Anything more than that might be at risk but… but they could do it. This would earn them money, more money for the plan, for the goal. He felt almost… excited, a sensation so rare it felt foreign in his heart these days.

By the time he left the business and approached his truck, Dutch almost forgot he’d left a younger man in there. Braeden had fallen asleep, head resting against the passenger window. Asleep the younger man almost looked, well peaceful and calm. His color, what little he’d started with anyway, returned compared to the pale version of himself in the hospital room. He stopped just next to the door, taking a breath as he analyzed his position. This was a risk, a big one itself. The opportunity, the ability to say he was a changed man, having an O’Driscoll in his home, this one in particular, fed, and cared for… saved. Was there a better claim to be had than that? His nervousness kept him repeating himself even if just internally; he knew that. Braeden might be too much for him, his needs unclear, his condition challenging. Oh but it reminded him of his boys, when they were so young, already scarred by an uncaring world and violent, vicious even to the blind eye but in so much need, requiring guidance and purpose. The times were different now, and a man’s spirit, his very soul might be broken with less notice by the outside world but still just as destroyed as before, the fight in him beaten down even while smiling to those around them. Society had not solved the problems of the wretched, only helped mask it more. Arthur and John… his boys were unlike this poor man although he couldn’t risk truly being around them too often to see what the weights of society did to their freedom seeking souls in this age… to know how close this place came to breaking them down too. No. He couldn’t risk being near enough to know, to really know them, but he would help them when the time came, be ready and able if he played his cards right. Braeden was just the first test, and oh what a test this could be.

Quietly Dutch opened the door and closed it behind him, barely stirring the other man. He noticed the water bottle was empty, the sandwich only partially eaten. Whether it was habit or fear that kept the man from finishing his lunch, Dutch wasn’t sure, but he remembered, after the initial meals, after eating like there was no tomorrow the hungry tried to squirrel away what they had, afraid, untrusting that another meal might arrive in due time. Patience worked then. It should work now.

By the time they arrived at the flat, it was dark again and quiet, blessed quiet or at least far quieter than apartments overstuffed with families and the needy would be this time of night. No traffic came this way and sometimes he just heard the arrival or departure of an oversized vessel. It was like music compared to the blaring of impatient drivers on overused highways and the screaming of unhappy families. When he put the truck in park, Braeden startled awake, green eyes searching around until they rested on Dutch’s calm eyes. They simply peered at each other for a moment or two before Dutch decided to break the silence. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to do something with your clothes son. I don’t want those in my home.”

After a pause Braeden nodded and just began working at his buttons, his hands shaking and another refusal to look Dutch in the eye followed. Dutch considered watching him, just waiting to see if he would really do it, just undress right here in the truck and then stand naked in-front of the door hoping to be let in. He wasn’t that cruel, not even to an O’Driscoll, especially one that advertised desperation as this one did. Braeden worked his ratty and smelly jacket off, and Dutch reached past him into the back seat for a bag which he held out expectantly. “Well take it.” He said. “I don’t plan on leaving my arm out like this all night.”

Braeden swallowed thickly and took the bag. “I thought you said I needed to, to…”

“Oh I know what I said. What’s more important is what you actually heard.” Dutch rubbed his nose, deciding it was past time for it to stop being assaulted by his companion’s clothing, so he waved towards a large garbage bin. “You can step behind there and change if you want.”

“Change?” Braeden blinked at him and then opened the bag, looking at a new set of black pants, a couple of clean dress shirts, a set of soft flannel pants, a white t-shirt and a few briefs. Uncertain fingers moved over the fabric and then the green eyes rose to meet his gaze.

“I am a good judge of character, and a good judge of size. You’re on the thin side now, but when you return to your proper weight, they ought to fit remarkably well.” Dutch motioned with his hands. “Go, go change out of that, toss what you have in that bin, socks and shoes too. We’ll deal with the shoes soon. What you have on is barely doing you any favors as it is since your toes are actually exposed.” Whatever soles those shoes had were worn away miles ago, and Dutch knew one day soon he’d ask about the journey. For now, he watched Braeden get out of the truck and move out of sight. At this point he let himself in and waited for the other man to enter which didn’t take long. Braeden stepped through the doorframe, bag of clothes in one hand, barefoot, his new black slacks a little loose around the hips, enough that his fingers curled to hold them up. The shirt was a better fit, loose, only partially buttoned with the white and grey stripes making him look even thinner. Still the O’Driscoll looked presentable, almost clean, like someone others didn’t have to cross the street to avoid although Dutch rarely felt that sort of need himself. He knew the value of those cast out of civilization and good society even as he practiced pulling them up and closer to the very people who would often reject them.

Slowly Dutch backed up and motioned his guest in with one arm, watching those fearful eyes following his invitation for some time before allowing his body to follow. “I’ll get you one of my old belts tomorrow. Welcome.”

This warehouse they stood in became too small to continue any sort of profitable business, but converting the top level to a flat, to a livable situation that gave him space and more quiet than most could imagine turned out to be an act of genius. Dutch led the other man to the lift instead of the stairs, knowing the energy spent might exhaust someone so malnourished he collapsed just yesterday; they said nothing on their way up.

Once upstairs Dutch grinned, wide and happy, actually proud of what he created here and showed so few. “Welcome to my home Mr. O’Driscoll.” He opened his arms wide and turned. “A small piece of paradise if you will in a place most call a land of work, metal and misery.” He carefully annunciated that last word, emphasizing three syllables. Without missing a beat, he began a small tour of the space that was mostly a single room, if that since a railing exist on the side leading to the warehouse and not a full solid wall. He had a king-sized bed with a pillow-top, a luxury item sporting black shiny, and embroidered bedding with metallic grey pillows added to the matching set. For dining there was a small rectangular table, also black, with four square grey and red chairs. A stainless steel sink and a stone counter that looked like liquid metal with flecks of pearls dropped in it lined one wall and near it a dish rack and cabinetry for what few dishes, pots and pans, and serving ware he had. There was a rack for wine, mugs for beer, and stove and oven with a nearby refrigerator, all stainless. A good size TV could be easily seen from the bed although a couple of nearby red sitting chairs signified he did not always watch from there. And of course three bookshelves, filled with books, new and old, fresh from the press and some as old as the originals he had years ago. Some days, when he ran his fingers over the covers, he wondered, truly wondered if one or two actually was.

Dutch spent a small amount of time pointing out the important locations, including the small bathroom with a standing shower behind one door, a walk in closet with more than enough space for his clothes behind another where he also placed simple belongings and currently a sleeping bag, additional blankets and pillow his guest. “And, this my friend is where you may rest at night. There are no actual rooms so this will give you the most privacy…” His voice trailed off when Braeden followed him into the closest and began to shake. “What’s wrong son?”

Braeden grabbed the bottom his shirt, crumpled the fabric in his fist and sort of tugged a few times before he spoke. “In the morning, you’ll… you’ll let me out? I’m not, not complaining I just need to know so I can, so I know how to prepare myself. It can get so dark, and, and…”

“Let you out?” Dutch spoke each word slowly and carefully as he puzzled the question and let his gaze drop to the doorknob where he noticed that there was, indeed, a lock. Oh! “This is a converted space.” He explained calmly but with renewed vigor, believing he solved the problem. “I am NOT locking this door. As I said I only want you to feel you can have some discretion when you need it.” When the green eyes met his gaze and showed no additional comfort or relief, he raised a hand. “Wait right here.”

Maybe a part of him resented the concern or maybe it was an accusation but a more prominent part of him wanted to resolve the situation at hand. Dutch returned with a screwdriver, and a few moments later he had the door knob dissembled and on the floor. “There.” He grinned, too content with himself, proud really, for such a small task, but his focus on Braeden again wiped the smile from his face.

Although the shaking had subsided, it was not yet gone, and as the younger man kneeled to lie down on his bedding he again asked an unusual question while tears began to gather in his eyes as if he was terrified of talking. “If someone comes, do I, I mean should I expect it or… it’s just I didn’t always know, when I was surprised things got… I just need to know so I do it right...” Braeden’s voice trailed off because Dutch approached him, kneeled and took a moment to study his eyes.

They were beautiful, no doubt about it, not something he really took notice of before due to the fact the man had been a murderous, lying bastard with a cruelty streak that was once honed and utilized but too volatile to continue the relationship with. Dutch dropped his eyes for a moment, remembering with such clarity he almost felt the desperation and guilt. His Arthur and his John, the feral and vicious nature of how his boys used to respond to simple and caring contact in the beginning… and also how he and Hosea managed to calm their lost souls into acceptance, a painful, awkward and slow process. “Let’s try something else.” Dutch responded with a brief nod to assure himself more than anything else.

A couple of hours later, after making and serving simple broth soup that Braeden’s stomach could handle, the younger man lied facing away from him in the same large bed, dressed in nothing but simple red and black plaid flannel pants. Dutch wore underwear bottoms and a shirt because he had someone in the flat with him. It took a while, but he let out a breath when Braeden finally drifted off to sleep. Clearly trying to give the younger man privacy with the closet led to some sort of fear of being locked or trapped even with the door knob removed, and the implications of what else happened in such spaces would need to be explored later. They’d have a long road ahead of them in dealing with something like this.

He grabbed a nearby favorite book to help focus and steady his thought, _A Tale of Two Cities_, before going to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured a man like Dutch probably thinks a lot, often, and might be bit chaotic now and then with such thoughts. I hope I didn't overdo it.


	7. Chapter 7 – Men at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur's worried about John, about Kieran and about money, just whom does he talk to. Let's find out!
> 
> Also, Dutch wanted complete obedience and deference once, so how come he's struggling with it now?

Arthur pulled at his thinning jeans, noting a new hole starting to form where his short nail tugged at the loosening threads. At least his red shirt was clean and not thinning thanks to John and Abigail learning a lot more about laundry than anyone wanted to know. Even with a crying baby in his arms and a lot of cleaning experience Arthur still wound up with white turned grey shirts, socks and diapers when he and Abigail had to take turns taking care of household chores. There were just some things he figured he weren’t ever meant to be good at. At least it gave him something to think about as he sat on a folding chair in a mostly empty warehouse room torn between pulling out a cigarette and taking a real unearned break or remembering too much, the good, the bad and the long ago. “What do you think of porn?”

Now normally Arthur avoided bringing up unusual topics with the men he worked with, but today he realized too much idle time and too long not having anything to do led him down dark path because if he wasn’t thinking about the long past he couldn’t help but worry over leaving John at home with Kieran like he did. He figured he knew John better than the younger man knew himself, knew John would never hurt someone just because they were weak and in need even if inappropriate things often left John’s mouth before the younger man thought twice about it. Kieran was a quiet, good soul, prone to being targeted by violence it seemed, but still in those light eyes he saw the same uncertain man he’d remembered from the years before. But John was right, they needed money. How he wound up chasing after money all the time during a second chance at life had to be some kind of curse, but here he was doing that again next to his work companion and probably the only   
“real” secret he’d kept from John for a couple of years, next to Charles, Charles Smith.

Arthur remained fully aware John thought he was crazy. It came up casually now and then but profoundly during their arguments. Sure, his spitfire lover often felt bad using his admittance as a weapon afterwards, but it didn’t make the wounds hurt any less. Abigail, still a sweet and strong woman, looked him right in the eye after he gave her a tiny sample of her past and an explanation of what he believed, and went back to talking about cake and birthday balloons like he never spoke about it at all. Jack, well he loved Arthur’s stories, but they were just stories in a child’s mind. So when he met Charles at work, and the man didn’t respond to seeing Arthur like it was… something, Arthur let it all drop and kept it to himself, allowing himself to have at least one friendly face, one companion that didn’t have to pretend that he didn’t think something was really wrong with him. And that helped, helped a lot because Charles seemed almost a carbon copy image of what he remembered about the man, quiet and reserved and careful with what few words he gave anyone else. He was dark like rich soil, hair a little longer and pulled back in a ponytail, muscular, and had a wide nose that would flare a few times before revealing any outward anger, just a hint of stubble along the chin and cheeks. Arthur wasn’t sure then or now if the man really had to shave. Some days, it almost felt like being back in camp, like they were just talking about nothing and sometimes everything in equal measure, maybe even both at the same time.

Charles rubbed against his black shirt, his arms resting against his thighs while he sat on a crate near Arthur waiting for their work to arrive too. He lifted his head though, deep eyes no doubt looking at Arthur if he’d actually had the guts to meet them; Arthur did not. “As in if I like it? What kind I like or something else?”

An arid chuckle sounded from Arthur because it was the kind of response he’d come to expect. Charles offered no judgment, no raunchy tales, no accusation, nothing real off putting which that kind of question might actually warrant in a workplace, but maybe, just maybe his friend knew how Arthur thought, how he liked to just work things out sometimes. “Nah, I mean, I mean what would you think of someone that was in one? You think folks who star in those ever regret it or maybe…”

“Don’t do it.” Charles shook his head when Arthur finally did look up. “You’ll regret it.”

“I didn’t say I was thinking about being in one.” And that was a pretty pathetic attempt to suggest he wasn’t asking about that very thing.

“You don’t have to. I know you Arthur.” Charles locked a steady gaze with him. “How much it take to get you even thinking about something like that?”

“Thousand dollars.” Arthur admitted. “We could really use it.”

“You tell John you’re smoking more than two cigarettes a day yet?”

“I don’t see how…”

“You’ve almost given yourself an ulcer worrying about him finding out you’ve moved nearly up to three now, can’t hardly admit it to yourself even, and you think doing porn is going to do you two any better?”

Arthur sighed. “That’s different. That’s taking money away not bringing it in. A thousand dollars…”

“Forget the money. A thousand dollars or even ten thousand, you’d hate yourself for it Arthur.” Charles stood, glancing around at the other men standing around at further ends of the warehouse. “What kind of person just comes up to a man and offers him that kind of gig anyway?”

Arthur grabbed his wallet and pulled out a well-worn paper card. “It just says Bell Entertainment Enterprises. Got it from someone, that one night when you couldn’t come out because you were out breaking your leg on that bike of yours.”

A slight smile formed. “You know most people would call it getting into an accident, and that wasn’t my fault. Don’t be jealous of my motorcycle Arthur, and you never said some strange man came up and offered you something like that.”

“It wasn’t a man.” Arthur returned the card to his wallet. “With a thousand dollars, John and I could get ahead a little, and maybe we could help Kieran with whatever help he needs or at least get him better situated at home.”

“… tell me about Kieran.”

By the time Arthur settled his thoughts again and returned his gaze to Charles, the dark man had a real thoughtful expression on his face, as if he really did want to hear about what strange thing he’d wound up doing this time.

“Oh well, I guess I didn’t really mention that earlier. On the way home last night I wound up catching this fella getting beat up real good in an alley. I decided to break it up, and then I took him home seeing that he didn’t have another place to stay. John’s real upset about all this, and I don’t know that Kieran is going to be leaving anytime soon, so I thought now might be a good time to see if the gig is still available. It’s been…”

“Over a year since that happened.” Charles finished for him, not batting an eye at his explanation. 

“Yeah. I’m not getting any younger so maybe down to eight or maybe seven by now.” Arthur sighed unhappily; Charles was right. Even if he could stomach spending the money after doing whatever being in porn entailed, John would be damn right furious over it for reasons the younger man would probably not be able to voice, so it would wind up being some sort of shouting session where most the anger wouldn’t come out in coherent words at all. “Could, could use the money.” Arthur repeated.

“The boss has been offering extra shifts lately, none of that helping?”

“No, no it is; it’s just well John’s getting impatient with me staying too late, working too hard which I know some of that is worry not just selfish demands like he comes off as.”

“And?”

“And some of the guys are resenting it. I heard them talking about how unfair it is I’ve been getting the offers first.”

“Fuck those guys.” Charles grumbled quietly.

Arthur laughed and looked at the floor. It was just too clean to scrub again. “You’re in a mood today.”

“You know some folks don’t mind sitting around drawing a paycheck doing nothing. I can’t stand it, just sitting here, just waiting around.” Charles stood. “And you’re one of the best workers here Arthur. You don’t complain about anything, not the extra work, not having to stay a few minutes late or when we didn’t get our bonuses last year even when you could’ve really used it. Hell I’ve been listening to your stomach grumble all day, and you didn’t even complain when George took three of those oatmeal cookies in the breakroom leaving you nothing when you finally came in there because those bastards left you to make sure things were right, really done properly before the loads come in.”

Arthur glanced up at him. More often than not he regretted not introducing John and Charles knowing the two would get along and do well. Problem was John would know, almost immediately like he did with Kieran, just somehow feel Arthur’s change around people he remembered from the past. Of course this conversation brought up another problem with John meeting someone he confessed more than a little of his thoughts to; if Charles and John talked, John would find out Arthur was a little slower today, a little less spry and just assume it was all because he missed an egg and one piece of toast at breakfast which would lead to even more arguments. Charles might even find out about his memories secondhand. God, he hated this. It felt, felt like he was lying to both of them, but he needed respite, if only for a little longer. “The man needed them more than I did, and no one really needs cookies anyway.”

Charles huffed. “You’re just too generous for your own good. That man could easily stand to lose thirty pounds, maybe more.”

“Now that’s not nice Charles. You know he had some really hard years with his wife recovering from sickness and him getting written up last year and thinking he might be out the door. It’s not like you to judge others like that.”

“I know.” Charles shook his head. “I just, you take too much on Arthur. You’re going to break at this rate, and get hurt in the process.”

They both heard the big doors raise indicating it finally arrived.

“I’ve got too much to lose and this time I know it. I’m not letting go even if my fingers are cold and stiff.” Arthur returned the wallet to his pants. “I won’t contact them then, and I can’t take another shift tonight. I promised John I wouldn’t be out too long after my shift.”

“Something tells me you don’t really intend to tell me what you mean by this time? So we can have a beer when we’re done?”

“Yeah, yeah we can.” Arthur paused as he realized he got so caught up in just telling Charles all about what he was feeling that he let mention of the past slip in there. “You’re right. We won’t talk about that other thing just yet.” And because Charles was Charles, he let it rest at that.

Arthur and Charles both smiled, grabbed their gloves and finally headed outside to get some work. He wouldn’t get the overtime tonight so maybe a couple of the guys would hate him a little less tomorrow.

**

Dutch made a hearty breakfast for Braeden in the morning consisting of oatmeal sweetened with brown sugar, raisins and some nuts for more protein. He also cooked up some bacon and quick scramble hoping the younger man might at least like some of it. By the time Braeden awoke and quietly walked over to the table after Dutch motioned him to join him, he was already halfway through his newspaper. Maybe it was habit or a fondness for print or just the comfort of something in his hand, but Dutch thought he might just wind up being one of the last men that would buy print until it was just no longer available. He mused to himself a bit longer, even chuckled at a dry joke in the comic section when he realized Braeden wasn’t eating.

“What’s the matter O’Driscoll? You don’t like any of it?”

Braeden looked tired, pale and already dispirited which frankly disappointed him because he thought the other slept well and long. 

“No, no sir. I just, I’m just waiting.”

“We already talked about this sir stuff. If you need to call me something just use my name, just say Dutch. I rather like hearing my name as it is. And just WHAT are you waiting for exactly?”

“Permission.”

“Permission to what?”

“Eat.”

Dutch put his paper down to give the other man his full attention, something he wagered would be required frequently throughout this developing relationship, whatever this relationship maybe. “Someone put food in front of you and told you to just watch or watch them eat while you couldn’t?”

Braeden’s light eyes lifted from the table, and with the way the other’s fingers fiddled around and closed, he figured if the man had a shirt he’d be twisting it right now. Some of his boys from the past fidgeted early on, but he helped break them of those habits. It either drew too much attention or indicated someone with an idiot mind neither of which was good for someone looking to thieve or con others; at least those were the thoughts back then. Now, now it just distracted him, but he needed to maintain patience. 

“No, no nothing quite like that.”

Dutch leaned back in his chair to regard the other’s nervous disposition. “So just what makes you think I would do that to you?”

“I don’t… I mean I don’t… It’s just…”

“Look at me and speak up son when we’re talking.”

Braeden swallowed but complied, no doubt finding Dutch’s hard observation difficult to maintain but he managed to do it. “I don’t really know how to act right with all this.”

“And if you act wrong, you’re punished, is that it?”

The eyes broke contact; the head dropped down and the whispered returned. “Yes.”

“And who tells you how to act. Colm?”

A tongue slipped out and ran along Braeden’s bottom lip. “Not just him.”

“Mmm.” Dutch recognized an unwillingness to continue a conversation when he saw one, but he decided getting Braeden to eat was more important than digging into the man’s past, for now. “Well I made breakfast for the both of us, and if you start now it should at least still be warm. Don’t push too hard on it. Neither one of us want you to be sick from taking in too much too fast.”

Braeden went for the oatmeal first. Smart boy, Dutch thought, the more filling stuff, a comfort food really.

Dutch spoke as the other ate. “I will be spending a full day and then some at work today. I’ve got to get my crew straightened up and better prepared for the additional work coming our way. This means you will be trusted to be in my home… alone.”

Braeden looked up from his meal and paused. “You’ll be home tonight?”

“Late in the evening, not in time for dinner. You can help yourself to the fridge when you are in need, and relax here. I’d appreciate if you took a shower. Those nurses only handled so much with their sponges, and maybe straighten up a bit if you find yourself in need of something to do. Does that sound like something you can manage?”

Braeden nodded. 

“Good.” Dutch stood to grab his things but was surprised to turn and see Braeden standing at the table looking a little, well distraught.

“Are you leaving, leaving right now?”

“I told you. I have to work today. I AM a busy man with a business to run, money to make.” He approached the O’Driscoll, got real close so he could try and maybe offer some calming assurances. “You’ll be fine. There is plenty of space up here, shampoo, soap, everything you need for your shower. I wouldn’t leave unless you have to since you don’t have a key to get back in. You can try and prop the doors but you MUST remember these are heavy industrial doors. I don’t want you accidently locked out.”

“Okay.” The man acknowledged. 

Good. Good. Maybe this Braeden wasn’t exactly sharp or obviously capable of much, but he wasn’t a simpleton just scared, just worried. Dutch walked towards the stairs but paused and turned again. “When you shower, change your clothes. Don’t worry about running out. I do the laundry throughout the week. You’ll get to wear them again soon enough.” He gave the other a smile but didn’t get one return. “Brea, it’ll be all right. I’ll be back tonight.” 

“Okay Dutch.” He received as a reply.

Only once Dutch was in the truck did he begin to wonder, really worry that maybe he was doing something exceedingly stupid here, leaving an O’Driscoll in his home, alone even if it felt… right to help him. 

Dutch drove away still worrying about that choice, but once he got into his office, he did what he did best, put his heart and soul into making everything work, even if the damn shipment was late again. No matter. Carlyle needed a day or two to tell his no good captains to get their shit in order, and then they’d have smooth sailing for a bit, just long enough for him to plan for a bigger haul. He’d need a few more men for that, and he had at least one idea where to get an additional one.


	8. Chapter 8 – If You Only Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So having a third person around puts a strain on Arthur and John's relationship, but it also might reveal just a hint or two about their strengths.

Admittedly it was nice to hang out with Charles after work. Sure the load came in late, and it took the idiots they worked with too long to figure out how to handle basic tasks just because a few things weren’t right in the paperwork, but they eventually got it all into the warehouse and where it was supposed to be so when the trucks came in there’d be no delay. This took more time than it should have, so Arthur got less than an hour at the bar; it was enough time. Cold glass against rough and tired fingers, cool liquid against a parched throat but no cigarette just in case the smell lingered, and they talked about Charles’ rebuilt engine on his bike as well as a discussion about a short trip along the coast the darker man meant to take. It sounded, well it sounded fun. Unfortunately their truck wasn’t in good enough shape though to make any trip, and well, Kieran and John in a truck for hours, shoulder to shoulder, sounded like a real bad idea right now anyway. Even the old John, who had no reason to hate Kieran, would’ve found little patience for that. John didn’t know it, but his ability to endure tight enclosed spaces mirrored his past self, exactly, and that meant child or man, no one would hear the end of his discomfort when forced into that kind of a situation. 

After saying his good-byes to one of the closest friends he’d ever had, although if anyone asked him he’d probably tell them they weren’t that close, Arthur walked home. He avoided bus per habit just so he could spend more time outdoors, but found himself getting a little nervous about what he might find back home tonight. Now sure, sure new John wouldn’t ever hurt their guest, not really, but not hurting someone and being welcoming, well that wasn’t really a fine line at all, and John plowed often ploughed through walls and certainly crossed lines without realizing it until well passed the damage settling in. So it was a real surprise, a real eye opener for Arthur that when he opened the door he found the two younger men sitting on their couch watching TV together.

They weren’t sitting real close, but the room was dark, all the lights out except the glow of the monitor, just how John liked to watch TV, like how a theater might be if they could actually ever afford to go to a show once in a while. Despite the whining about it, the thirty-two inch TV didn’t look small at all in their little apartment and gave a great picture. At one of their lowest points, with barely enough money to keep the heat on Arthur spent a good two hours shopping holiday sales trying to get a deal on one that size with a good picture for less than a hundred dollars. It was just the boost John needed then too because he wound up landing a job just a few weeks later. And a full year after that Arthur braved the crowds to get that little sound bar to go with it which made it a lot easier for an almost forty year old man like himself to hear those whispering scenes. It didn’t matter he hated standing in the cold pushing through crowds all in a frenzy just to buy something. For that smile, for those minutes of joy just watching his brother open that gift and all the hours John spent in front of it… well worth every effort, every penny. And even though other men, men who maybe didn’t remember like Arthur did, might be hurt or offended every time John complained about the size of it, Arthur knew him, really knew him better than that, better than he knew himself. John wasn’t complaining about his gift, or even the TV really. He was just so disappointed, so discouraged with where they were in life. Despite trying so hard and for so long together, they weren’t in a better position now to even get a better TV. It still made him happy though, his John, to have something to do to pass the time, especially when he there was a chance to watch someone get torn apart in ways that would make the Old West blush. Arthur wasn’t sure that would be the best choice for a man mugged just last night, so fortunately tonight’s showing wasn’t a horror movie. Kieran wound up being subjected to some sort of historical piece, maybe, showcasing rocky and green hills at some far off place, some place too cold from the look of it, but pretty. Quietly Arthur shut the door behind him, but didn’t make it past the couch before John paused their movie and turned, giving Arthur a brief smile accompanied by Kieran’s much larger one. 

They looked happy, at ease… safe, and the weight of the day’s trials just lifted from Arthur’s shoulders immediately.

“Arthur…” Kieran greeted, hesitantly, advertising he still felt awkward and out of place even if he was happy to see his rescuer again. 

“John. Kieran.” Arthur replied simply, noticing once he turned on the lights that Kieran had a different shirt on as well as pants; they both fit a lot better than the ones he borrowed from John. Arthur raised his brows slightly in question.

John knew immediately what he was wondering about and just shrugged as he stood and headed to the kitchen heat up Arthur’s late night meal, what was left of their dinner. “How’d work go?”

Arthur glanced at the clock on the microwave, noticing he wasn’t too late which obviously helped keep his younger lover in a better mood. “Not too smooth but at least it got busy in the end. Baked potato?” 

John nodded. “With plenty of toppings. I already cooked yours, so it won’t take long to heat again. Sour cream, bacon…. chives?”

Even though John obviously just blew this week’s budget out of the water with serving bacon so early on and springing for chives Arthur suddenly found himself a little interested in dinner, not just because he was hungry but due it being different, a little shaken-up from their usual menu. His days, his weeks, they were so much better when something out of the ordinary happened, when the dullness got pushed aside for something memorable. Fucking baked potato. He’d been an outlaw once and here he was, excited about dinner. “Yes, yes please.” 

Arthur tapped on the table while waiting, noticing Kieran looked just as uncomfortable and gangly and out of place as ever sitting on that couch waiting for who knew what? It was a good reminder though, a real good reminder, of how grateful he should be and not to be whining when they had what they had, a roof, a place to go to after work, and food. “Whatcha watching over there Kieran?”

Immediately their new roommate looked relieved to be acknowledged. “I think John said it was something called Highlander.”

Arthur huffed briefly and rolled his eyes. “Again, John, really?”

“What!? Kieran hasn’t seen it, and it’s not like we have hundreds of movies here.” John moved about the kitchen like a pro gathering everything and then putting it right back in the proper place. It still puzzled him why the boy couldn’t manage to do that with his clothes.

“We have basic cable.” Arthur reminded. 

“Which has commercials. This is pure entertainment joy.” A couple of minutes later John put the plate in front of him, steaming hot, mounded with toppings, beautiful. 

Arthur carefully cut into the hot spud. “If you say so.” 

“Oh just finish up so you can join us. You’ll fall asleep in twenty minutes, and then we’ll go to bed.”

“Don’t understand why we can’t just skip to the bed part.” Arthur grumbled as he kept eating.

“We’re not old, that’s why. It’ll be a cold day in hell when I am in bed that early.” John licked his lips and Arthur knew, just knew he was about to say something lewd, so he responded immediately.

“Yeah. Okay.” Giving in now would save him at least twenty minutes and some embarrassment, and honestly it was such a small ask combined with a real hopeful light in those dark eyes; it kind of reminded him of the first time John asked him out on the date, well a real one anyway with a time and location instead of the not so subtle way he tried to turn every coffee and dinner exchange into one. Arthur just wanted to know more about John, his life, his family and where he worked. John wanted in his pants, and as startled and horrified as he’d been with that realization at the start, he smiled now in amusement. Finding John turned out to be the best thing in his life, even if it came with rollercoaster worthy twisting emotions at times and a lot of hardship. No, no he didn’t hate this life because he had some of the most important members of his family back in it. He could still wish for more, but no, no life with John around would ever be worthy of hating, not then and not now.

Once Arthur filled his belly with a quality topped potato he squeezed his way in between John and Kieran to stare at this movie again, knowing full well he was just as unlikely to finish this time as the other dozen times he tried. It wasn’t that the movie was bad so much as Arthur wasn’t prone to spending much time in front of screens of any kind. Their couch was a little on the small side, probably more a loveseat than a couch really, but it worked well enough for the three of them; Kieran just wasn’t that big. And to be honest, he didn’t try very hard not to fall asleep; he just felt, well, content that John and Kieran got along all day and with his guard safely put down for a minute, just dozed off in a few minutes. 

John woke him when the credits began rolling so they could arrange Kieran’s bedding. The boy was a little long for couch, but if he bent his knees… well the Kieran he knew then and the one now seemed awfully grateful just to have somewhere safe to sleep although Arthur intended, really wanted to work hard to make sure it was really safe this time and not like, not like last time. He must’ve got a look on his face just then because John suddenly tugged on his sleeve. “Come on mother hen. Stop fussing and worrying, give him some space to get comfortable.”

“Night.” Arthur murmured to Kieran who gave him a smile when he turned and followed John to bed himself. A part of him wanted to say something, anything about the clothes, the potatoes, and the movie because it was like he came home to a different man than the one he left this morning.

But because John didn’t know how to let silence hang around too long, the younger man started a conversation himself instead. “I have a short shift tomorrow. I think I’ll take him down to the library to get a card, so he can hang out there for a few hours, and then I’ll pick him up on the way back. I can pack a lunch too. They won’t let him eat in there, but I figure the bench at the park would be fine again like today…” That quiet tone, the way he looked away from Arthur, well John was asking permission without really asking for it.

“John…” Arthur climbed into bed, but watched John heft his shirt an inch too short from the laundry hamper, and not pick it up of course. That sort of thing really didn’t bother him as much as it did early on because, well it weren’t worth the fuss and more often than not, John did the laundry anyway, including picking anything up off the floor. Plus, he got a chance to look at that lean and light body underneath just before it vanished behind their bedding.

“I know we don’t have the money, but I just, well Arthur I’m not ready to leave him unattended here. Is that, is that okay?” Even close as he was, John remained hesitant to look Arthur in the eye and this time the man actually asked for his permission which meant his lover really did want to make this work. 

It warmed Arthur’s heart something fierce, created a pool of warmth that filled his belly whereas a lean breakfast had left it feeling light before. “Yeah, yeah that’s okay.” Arthur replied softly easily offering a smile. When John tried, Jesus, if Kieran weren’t just in the other room maybe he would muscle up some energy for a quick romp. As it were, well he just needed more time to get used to this new arrangement too. One life surrounded by so many people and no privacy, and now it’d been so many quiet nights between them Arthur just didn’t know how to feel with another just yet. He just hoped patient John might last a little longer, like say a week or two, and Kieran remained the weirdly considerate man he was before.

“I don’t think I’ll feel this way forever.” John offered.

“It’s okay if it takes a while. A library is a good place to go.”

“Get to meet some real interesting folks there you know.” John grinned and then sort of nuzzled his shoulder into Arthur’s armpit, so he could turn his lover into a glorified pillow.

Arthur stroked neck and jaw gently. “Yeah.”

“You’re not saying much.” John objected.

“You need me to?”

“Might be nice to know…”

“Nothing you did today was going to keep me from coming home and being with you.” Arthur assured. He sometimes wondered if that hurt, angry and scared little boy he saw in John a lifetime ago still huddled inside this modern version of him because there was just hint, minute details that suggested that John still existed. 

John closed his eyes while Arthur flipped their lamp off. “I gotta figure out how to get rid of him for like an hour at night though, just for a little bit.”

Arthur huffed. “You really couldn’t help yourself mentioning that could you?”

He felt the younger man grin against his skin. “You know if you don’t figure out a way to get us together again, I’m going to have to do something drastic. I’m just saying that…”

“I’ll figure out a way. Don’t rush it.” Arthur warned with a brief sigh. “I’ll find some space for us. I promise, just, just give me some time to figure it out. We can’t very well kick him out the door and tie a sock on a doorknob.”

“Sock?” John glanced up at him. 

“Isn’t that what college kids do to tell their roommates not to interrupt?”

John snorted. “Don’t reckon I know any college kids. I figure they just use their phones though for that.”

Reckon. John said reckon. His brain sort of latched onto to that, and Arthur realized he let the silence linger too long but the slip, the snort it almost came with, it was just like… “You’re probably right.”

“Get with the times old man. Now go to sleep. I want to beat Kieran to the shower tomorrow.”

Not now, his brain told him, remember this moment but don’t press your luck. John did good today, real good and even mentioning the other thing could spiral things real quick like. So Arthur tried to remain focused on the here and now didn’t even want to know why showering first suddenly became so important; he just nodded and drifted off within a few minutes again. 

Later, in the middle of the night Arthur opened his eyes to pitch black, blinking away some sleepiness as he glanced at their alarm clock to see the 3AM digits glaring bright red at him. Something, something felt off.

“Somebody help me.” The voice was feint, almost, almost like it was a whisper or…

“Please, please stop. I don’t, I don’t know anything. I swear. I…” And then a cry.

Arthur grabbed the hammer he kept in the nightstand and carefully dislodged John before he headed into the main room thinking there might be an intruder or something he intended to confront only he found Kieran alone on the sofa shifting and grabbing a pillow so tightly his knuckles looked pale even to Arthur’s dark adjusting eyes.

“Somebody help me. They’re, they’re hurting me. Oh God. Oh God. No!” Kieran’s voice rose a bit more. 

Quickly Arthur set the hammer on the media center and approached the couch as if in a trance, his heart pounding, his eyes widening because it sounded like…

“Nobody’s coming. Nobody’s coming. I don’t… Please…” And then the tears fell from the younger man’s eyes.

“Kieran…” Arthur whispered.

“No! No!” 

Before Kieran actually shouted Arthur just threw caution out the window, kneeled and firmly gripped the writhing man’s shoulder. “Kieran. Kieran wake-up. Come on boy, open your eyes.”

And they did open, unfocused, wild at first before they finally managed to steadily return Arthur’s gaze. “Oh god. I’m sorry; I’m so sorry Arthur. I woke you up. I…” And then the other man sobbed. “Jesus. It’s so real. It’s… It’s like…”

“Tell me.” Arthur ordered without checking himself. He knew better than to encourage a hard approach like this with Kieran the way he was. The younger man needed comfort and assurances, but a part of him desperately wondered and dreaded what their new roommate might say.

“It’s hot and wet. Everything smells so strong, bodies, horses… and these men, these bad men they have me and, and they’re hurting me. And they keep asking about a camp, and I tell them I don’t know.” Kieran sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to control himself but the tears kept flowing. “And I’m looking like, looking for someone in the trees, for others but they’re not coming. They never come for me. I don’t even know who they would be and I just… I don’t…” Kieran squeezed his eyes shut. “The doctors said if I focus better and with the medications it would improve and these dreams would stop coming, but they just get worse and there’s more detail, and I’m looking around like I think someone is coming but they never come. And I know I am going to die. I always die, but it ain’t like they say Arthur. When you die in a dream, you’re not supposed to wake-up because you’re really dead, but I always do, I always do Arthur and then it’s… it’s…” Kieran sobbed again, covering his face with his hands. “I’m so alone.”

“You’re not crazy, and you can stop taking those damn pills if this is why you’re taking them.” For a moment, Arthur toyed with the risk, with the possibility of another rejection weighed against the need of validation all while guilt began to pool and sour his stomach. This was the worst of his fears, the horror and realization that Kieran had hoped against hope that someone would save him, and Arthur failed him, like he failed most the others but he thought, he hoped, no one else suffered nearly as their Kieran had.

“But I… I am.”

Arthur immediately wrapped his arms around the smaller man, a lithe form, and easily lifted him, holding him close and feeling not an ounce of surprise when Kieran hugged him back and continued to sob against his shoulder like they hadn’t just met. Even past Kieran reached out readily enough, hoping for mercy in a world that gave so many of them so little of it. “And you’re not alone. I’m… I’m sorry Kieran. I didn’t know. I swear to God I didn’t know. I would’ve gone for you, and I would’ve told anyone wanting to stop me to go hell if I’d known.” And he was thinking of Dutch of course, and Micah. He would’ve knocked either or both of them on their asses if they tried to stop him, except he was foolish, didn’t notice, didn’t think that Kieran had been taken. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Kieran sniffed quietly, his fingers tight against the meat of Arthur’s back and shoulders. “You, you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Arthur admitted, his throat tight. “But we’re not talking about that tonight. You’re coming with me. Those memories aren’t coming back tonight, not while I’m here. Not when I can try and protect you this time.” And just like that, Arthur hauled their guest into their bedroom, not surprised to see the light on nor to find John sitting up in the bed.

John peered at them, eyes sleepy and wary, but he didn’t say a word while Arthur wrestled with the blankets to get him and Kieran back into bed. Arthur felt his heart pounding loud enough that it pulsed in his ears, and the moisture against his neck was almost not enough to continue with this when his lover, when John, just got out of bed and simply walked away. “John…?”

Arthur closed his eyes tightly, knowing this was the right thing to do, but could he do it? Could he risk his carefully crafted if often strained relationship with his brother and lover for, for Kieran? John didn’t remember what happened, couldn’t see the nightmare for what it was, so it wasn’t his fault, wasn’t a failing even though it tore at Arthur’s heart to see him just abandon them like… and that’s when he felt the bed shift again.

This time when Arthur opened his eyes, he found John back in bed with an extra fluffy pillow in his arms, one he kept in the closet to exchange out for an old one but only when the time was right, when the budget allowed, some weird schedule he worked out on the calendar for things like bedding, pillows and towels. The brunette just sort of awkwardly set it on Kieran’s back before turning and facing away from them, his confusion, hurt, all sorts of conflicting emotions just laid bare on his scarred face before his back blocked Arthur’s view. He didn’t understand, Arthur reminded himself, but John wanted to, sometimes, deep down, John just didn’t reject all this like he claimed he did. Because if he did, this would be so much worse, wouldn’t it?

It wasn’t easy shifting around again, trying to get them all on the bed comfortable like, but eventually Arthur managed to get Kieran snug against one side and John, with only a token a bit of reluctance from the younger man, snug against the other again and facing him again. In the dark, after Kieran and then John fell asleep, Arthur opened his eyes and peered at the ceiling. He wasn’t alone. Someone else remembered, but why, why did it have to be Kieran remembering that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this actually had a second part to the chapter, and ultimately I decided to break it out into a chapter itself which means... that one might be coming out sooner because it's a holiday weekend for me and phew, I can breathe and relax and... write!
> 
> If I have one complaint about this chapter to share, it's that I am not sure I conveyed the hurt and pain enough... Which is harder with Arthur's POV because I think he just comes off as more controlled internally and definitely externally than say if I wrote this from John's point of view which would probably be conveying a whirlwind of strong reactions instead.


	9. Chapter 9 – Waiting at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch runs into a surprise outcome at home.

For the first time in a long time, Dutch felt a little pep in his step. Sure, these days shipments and work left him frustrated, baffled and longing for a lot more zeroes in pretty much every account, but the idea that there was someone at home, someone waiting for him at home just gave him a renewed sense of hope that he hadn’t realized he lost. It’d been so long, so very long since he’d had that experience, and it encouraged and invigorated him enough to stop at the grocery store to pick up some fresh food for an especially late dinner, a real fresh and delightful dinner using culinary skills left too long dormant which he hoped might pleasantly surprise his guest. Now likely Braeden’s stomach couldn’t handle anything too harsh, nothing with too many spices or acids, so he decided a simple Alfredo sauce with fried chicken and a little asparagus would do nicely this evening. The pasta could easily give the other man the caloric intake he needed and the milk and cheese the fat. Maybe Dutch himself didn’t need the extra, but why not treat himself a bit today? And if the O’Driscoll didn’t know how to reheat food for lunch, well today was as good as any to show him how to handle the stove. So with a smile, Dutch pulled up to the large building, grabbed his bag of groceries, careful with the garlic bread, and walked through the door and encountered the strong odor of bleach.

Carefully he headed up the stairs, wary of any spill or possible mess he might find that would require that much cleaning power only to discover an unwelcome sight in the loft, Braeden O’Driscoll unmoving on the floor next to a cleaning bucket with one of Dutch’s largest sponges in an agitated red hand, and the place looked damn near spotless.

With a heavy sigh, Dutch put his bag on the table, walked over to the his guest and ever so carefully placed his fingers against the other’s neck, relieved to find a strong pulse as well as see the man’s chest rise and fall. Good, just passed out, probably from working too damn hard in the condition he was in. Fortunately the place was too big to really worry about fumes, but a couple of fans could air everything out quickly enough.

Once he got the fans going, Dutch gathered the other man in his arms and deposited him gently onto their bed, running his fingers over Braeden’s sweat damp brow and hair while he tried to remember just what it was he said that might’ve led to this. Straighten up… maybe, just maybe that throwaway remark stimulated this extreme action. It seemed hard to believe, but on the other hand, it had to be the most logical conclusion. Dutch lifted Braeden’s hands, feeling the skin rough and raw from the too strong cleaning solution the other man used. “You sure did a number on yourself in just a few hours didn’t you?” At this point Dutch frowned and examined Braeden’s fingernails, clean, as was the rest of him which meant yes, he’d showered. How on this green Earth did he wind up with someone who not only listened to him but took his suggests, his wants, to extreme orders and for what, to please him, in desperation to be allowed to stay?

Shaking his head, Dutch covered Braeden with an extra blanket and began to unpack his bag. This sort of behavior complicated things, made it harder to even imagine the simplest of arrangements they might have, and really that sort of thinking distracted him enough where he over thickened the Alfredo sauce with just too much cheese, and slightly overcooked the chicken too, but at least the pasta and the bread turned out so that dinner was all in order by the time his guest began to come around. He decided to great him with a cool glass of water and a smile.

“Dutch?”

Dutch carefully slipped the water into the other’s hand. “Drink up Son.”

Of course Braeden obeyed as Dutch began to suspect he always would if all things remained the same, and despite those weary eyes and confused expression, pale skin and malnourished face, there was just something about the other man that made Dutch want to see a smile, to see that despair shift to hope and even contentment if not outright happiness.

Once Braeden drank most of his water, he carefully lowered the glass and a look of hopelessness washed over him. “I… I didn’t finish before you got home.”

Dutch chuckled. “Didn’t finish? Are you telling me there IS a spot around here you didn’t manage to shine. Braeden, what in the world possessed you to do something like this?”

“You, you wanted me to clean-up. I wanted to show you I could be useful, but I don’t…” Braeden leaned forward and gripped his stomach, wincing in mild pain.

“Did you eat lunch or dinner today?”

Braeden took a breath and shook his head.

“Why not?” Dutch tried hard, and knew he failed, at hiding his hard disappointment in hearing that.

“I’m, I’m not in need. I already, already ate today, this morning.” Braeden explained the situation with such sincerity, as if a single meal was in fact all that was needed that Dutch couldn’t help but frown again.

“Braeden, Brae, you are in NEED of more. You must feel that, must KNOW that. We just got you out of the hospital for running on empty, and now I find you on the floor of my loft, having worked for hours without another meal?” Dutch took a breath, trying to focus his thoughts, away from his work, away from the idea of a pleasant evening and a nice meal to more pressing matters, more immediate needs. Braeden O’Driscoll could simply not take care of himself in the state he was in, but whether this was a permanent situation or… No. No society threw men like this away. They gave up on them, discarded them like damaged goods. Maybe Braeden was damaged to some lasting extent, but he managed to find Dutch here, managed to clean this large space feeling as bad as he felt while also listening well enough to indicate he could process basic thought. There was hope, and where there was hope they just needed enough faith to keep going. “Get up Son, and join me at the table for dinner.”

Braeden swallowed nervously but complied, slowly making his way to the table where he sat uncomfortably as Dutch pooled noodles on his plate, followed with the aromatic sauce, not too much though, as well as adding the asparagus and the bread. While Dutch got wine, Braeden received water in his wine glass. It would’ve been nice to drink with someone again, but this, this would have to do and alcohol would not be kind on such an empty stomach.

“Please eat.”

Dutch wasn’t entirely surprised to see Braeden comply immediately, and obedience wasn’t something they’d work against just yet. It would be… useful for now even though Dutch oddly found himself abhorring this version of it. To help settle himself down a bit, Dutch ate slowly, drank just a little wine and discreetly paid attention to how the other man ate which was, surprisingly enough, properly. Fork in hand, elbows off the table, and appropriate bites; clearly his guest had not been raised by animals. Hell if the man’s body had been cared for properly, he might even have good posture right now instead of the caved in, embarrassed expression and stance they both endured. It, well it made his heart quiver a bit to realize Braeden might wish not to be seen, as if he should actually be ashamed of his ill self. That, that would not do.

After allowing the other man to eat in silence for a few bites, Dutch leaned across the small table and simply took the other man’s hand in his and squeezed, nice and firm. “Look at me son.” When he didn’t get a proper response, Dutch repeated himself. “Brae, look at me.”

This time he received compliance but also just a hint, just a tiny fraction of defiance. “I wasn’t… wasn’t talking this time.”

Aaah. Good memory, not too lost there. “No.” Dutch smiled. “No you weren’t.” He paused. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you know that?”

Braeden retrieved his hand, shoved it under the table and just sort of stared at his plate. “I’ve been to prison. I’ve got, I’ve got plenty to be ashamed of.”

“Mmm.” Dutch knew more than few men and women with records. He wasn’t about to excuse all their actions nor did he accept civilization’s judgment of those actions, but this, an O’Driscoll, explaining to him he was ashamed of his actions, was almost beyond belief. “Do you want to explain to me how you wound up there?”

Silence dominated their space for a good few minutes, and Dutch considered letting the matter drop and encouraging Braeden to eat more when the other finally spoke.

“Colm, Colm put me there.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like you are owning up to your actions Son.” Dutch wanted to know more, he definitely did, but he also believed that a man had to own what he did, just as Dutch intended, just as he planned to show his boys he was willing to do. He just needed more time to, more money and maybe just a little luck. And Braeden, well before they could move forward from the man’s past, Dutch needed to also know what exactly that past was.

Braeden nodded, hesitantly looking up as he grabbed the bread and tore off a tiny piece to eat, as if he knew not to gnaw on it like some feral beast. “I’m not saying I shouldn’t have been put there just that, just that what got me there wasn’t, well… my brother set me up.”

Dutch grabbed his glass of wine, leaned back and listened. “He worked with the law?”

“No.” The other man shook his head. “He, he thought it was a set-up, must’ve thought it was a set-up and sent me in case to get caught instead of him. It was, well fraud. He was doing fraud, told me to go do the drop, and they were waiting for me.”

“And why would he do that to his own brother?”

Brae paused from eating his bread, scowled real deep like, and then his expression shifted from the hard, stiff explanations and replies to something that looked real close to being sorrowful. “I wanted something, something different.”

“Different from what?” Dutch encouraged.

The O’Driscoll swallowed thickly, grabbed his water, pretty much chugged the small wine glass and then set it down almost hard enough to break it, almost. Once he let go of the glass, his hands started working together, rough like in angry worry which was probably painful as raw as they were. “After ma and pa died, and a cousin came and, well he was mean, and we left him, then we was on our own, and we started doing the things we did before, robbing folks, stealing, working with others and it got, and he…” Braeden’s eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to explain but couldn’t seem to do so real well once emotions started dominating him.

“Brae. Brae. Look at me.” Dutch set his wine down. “Come on Son, just look at me.” When those fine eyes met his again, Dutch tried to settle the other down with calming words. “We don’t have to talk about this. If it’s too hard just yet we can…”

“I wanted a different life.” Braeden whispered. “It didn’t turn out real well last time, so I thought, I thought we could go straight and if we did maybe, maybe I wouldn’t get murdered and he might not, not hang.”

Dutch couldn’t help himself. “Colm remembers hanging?”

Braeden nodded. “Said he did. I asked him what the last thing he remembered from, from back then was, and that’s what he told me.”

“And he thought he’d do better this time with crime, get ahead of the law longer?” Dutch’s eyes narrowed slightly, fighting the urge, the want to understand his former enemy when he should be focusing on the man’s brother, the person right in front of him.

“The world has the hurt, and those who hurt.” Braeden rehearsed levelly. “Best be the one doing the hurting.”

Dutch wanted to ask more about Colm. He really did except, except… “So you stopped hurting?”

“And became the hurt.”

The way Braeden said that, his cold and distant explanation and strange acceptance of his fate sent chills down Dutch’s spine. This time with two hands, Dutch leaned further across the table and grasped Braeden’s free hand, his large thumb gently moving over the tender knuckles. “Your brother was and is wrong. I was wrong once too, and I know this might sound strange coming from me, but I’ll show you Brae, let me show you. You came all this way because you must know, must know deep down, that it does not have to be that way. We can do better this time…Right?”

He didn’t receive an answer, but a few tears escaped from Braeden’s eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. When Braeden lowered his head, they flowed down the tip of his nose and onto his unfinished pasta. The one captive hand twitched so minutely that Dutch almost missed it, and he suppressed a desire to turn and offer his hand palm side up for a more intimate and comforting connection. Instead Dutch gave the man’s hand another squeeze and released him. “Finish up but eat slowly. You’re not used to eating regularly, and we need to work on that. When you’re done, just climb into bed to get some better rest and don’t do any cleaning tonight or tomorrow. We want to give your skin time to recover.”

They finished eating in relative silence, with Dutch removing his empty plate first and then proceeding to clean up. He didn’t show Braeden anything about the stove, but he put together a lunch for Braeden just the same, his name written directly on the lid. If the man wasn’t comfortable fishing food out from the fridge himself, then he needed to make it abundantly clear this was meant for him. Cold food was better than no food anyway. After he saw Braeden climb into bed, Dutch decided to take a shower himself and frowned as he stared at the pitch black charcoal soap he picked up which supposedly was good for the skin. He’d looked forward to dinner tonight, to conversation, to curious stories and maybe a little praise for a well-cooked meal. Had that been… a selfish want? He never intended to demand it, but thinking about that small comfort, had it truly been at the cost of not thinking of Braeden’s need? Tomorrow, tomorrow he’d stop at the store again and get more plain foods, something Braeden could stomach easily with very little preparation, dreaded canned soup or maybe deli soup, and maybe a roasted chicken.

By the time he emerged in his dark robe, Braeden was already asleep, almost looking peaceful on his side of the bed. Dutch climbed in himself but instead of diving into book as was habit he decided it was past time to do something else.

After collecting his thoughts, Dutch reached over to a nearby side table and grabbed a small laptop to write an e-mail.

**

_Dear Friend,_

_I know that you are well or you would tell me otherwise. No matter what has happened between us, I know that you would wish me there were you ill or injured. The checks that I send each month are being cashed, and I appreciate that you send me plans, pictures sometimes… any information about our dream. I AM respecting your wishes and not requesting that you reach out to me until YOU are ready. As for the inquiry you respectfully asked me to keep you informed about, there is no change. Should my situation or that of those around me improve in anyway, I will quickly notify you as PROMISED._

_You might be wondering why I am bothering with a lengthy e-mail instead of my usual shorter message informing you of business updates, fund increases or decreases and of course any additional contacts I have made. It might please you to know that I have received an unexpected arrival by the name of Braeden O’Driscoll. Yes, yes you read this correctly. This man of ill repute came to my door, in need, afraid and in perhaps the most broken of spirits and uncertainty as I have laid witness to in this day and age. He is most certainly not as I fully remember, although perhaps this is a true insight into what formed the man he became. I, dare I say, dreamed of having such obedience as he has shown me, such unfailing understanding if misguided attempts at the command of my word at every turn, yet here I have it, and I cannot loathe it more than I do. The man is most terrified and desperate of doing wrong by me, of failing in my eyes in any respect that he might accept what terrifies him if I only I might convince him so, and it shudders my soul to think how easily such a man might be formed into the monster seen so long ago by but the command and guidance of a lesser man, of his brother. But I AM a BETTER man this day. I have softened my heart, guided this poor refugee of humanity’s failing into warmth, comfort and the satisfaction of a full belly each night. I do not do this thing in the hopes of speeding your forgiveness of past wrongs. It was when I saw the desperation in his eyes, the fragility of his body and recognized in him the acceptance of an unjust and painful ending that I knew, just knew I must act._

_… I wish you were here to help guide me with my effort. I am not sure I know what I am doing, that I can ensure he will not suffer further due to my labors. I am also not convinced he might not have a strength, a darkness even still in him not yet shown. The wounded can certainly lash out._

_… I think, I hope you would be proud that there is a kindness in me that did not so flourish before in the end of all things. There is no aim with this generosity, no demand in payment of expectation of a lifelong commitment. I would only ask that you add Braeden, Brae as I have come to affectionately call him, to our plans, that he might find contentment with us, with ours, and that you might accept him long before you might be willing to accept me._

_Yours Truly,_

_Dutch_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second piece of what was Chapter 8, thus the reason it was released so quickly. I am... hoping this parallel story does instill some interest and enjoyment even though Colm's brother has so little info about him he might as well be an original character.


	10. Chapter 10 – Cohabitating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cats out of the bag. Okay, it's a dream, sort of, and now they all know about it. So now what? Let's find out.

Arthur sat awkwardly in a chair across the table from Kieran who cradled his cup of coffee like it might as well have been a shield. The soft sounds of running water told him John remained in his shower which gave them just a little time to talk after he made breakfast. In order to try and stretch the eggs a bit more, he’d used milk to scramble them, sprinkled some cheese and onions on them and covered them with a lid to keep it warm. Even though John wasn’t especially a fan of scrambled eggs, he figured his younger lover wouldn’t mind too much, and it was at least a passive offering to get them back on their budget as well as attempt to show him they could do this; they could add another person and not have John worry about him starving at work. That would be a conversation to come, and this one here, well Kieran wasn’t saying much of anything still, and Arthur didn’t know how to do this part because he was bad at it. No one ever walked away from one of his past life reveals with anything pleasant to say about what they thought were just stories, so he was kind of worried himself sick about trying one now except, well he needed Kieran to know he wasn’t crazy.

Fresh out of a shower himself, looking tired but not awful, Kieran kept looking at the dark liquid in his cup but managed to squeak out a few words to the relief of them both. “So last night…”

“Yeah.” Stupid. Arthur rebuked himself for replying too quickly and still managing not say anything.

Fortunately Kieran took the response as affirmation enough to continue. “You think, I mean you think I’m not crazy because you, well you know me?”

“Knew you.” Arthur cautiously confirmed. 

“And that dream I keep having isn’t, well it’s not proof that I’ve lost my mind?”

With a deep breath Arthur leaned forward and tried to lock eyes with the younger man, something Dutch taught him to do long ago, past life stuff, to help take command of situations and show strength. Once their eyes met he mustered every firm muscle in his body to sound confident and certain. “You are not crazy Kieran Duffy.”

Kieran glanced away, nervously. “You said my name before, said it before I even told you.”

“Yeah, yeah I did. It’s because I wasn’t ever going to forget the face and name of the man who saved my life.”

Kieran blinked at him while reaching up to scratch against his cheek. “I, I saved your life?”

“Sure did. You were taking me to an old cabin where some bad men you used to run with were hold up. I got sloppy, had a gun pulled on me, and you took the man down right before he could kill me.” Arthur paused. “You remember any of that?”

The other man quickly shook his head.

Arthur sighed. How could he know the torture and death but not the rest of it, not the important stuff?

“So you remember, you remember a lot?” Came a cautious question from the man himself.

“I’m not sure, maybe most of it.” Arthur admitted. “I, well, I haven’t found anyone else to tell me one way or another.”

“And there are a lot of others?”

“We were a whole gang.”

Kieran smiled briefly. “I, you mean I got to join a gang, like a real life outlaw gang?”

“…” Arthur glanced down at the table for a moment. He promised himself a long time ago, if he ever found these other people, his family, he wouldn’t lie to them about any of this. It wouldn’t be fair or right to lie to someone about their past except, well, he really didn’t figure that the first one to engage would be Kieran talking about, about this. “Forced join.”

“Forced?” Kieran leaned forward, clearly interested as well as confused.

On one hand, this conversation was already turning out to be better than all the others. On the other hand, Arthur felt like he was really going to be sick now. Suddenly he was second guessing himself about not asking John for a joint shower, so he and Kieran could do this. He could’ve been in there with his lover, feeling warm and relaxed instead of explaining to their new roommate he’d been kidnapped not long before he was tortured and killed… and Arthur did the kidnapping part. “Well, well I kind of took you to be questioned which led to that cabin thing I said earlier.”

“Took me…” Kieran looked more puzzled then upset. “Okay so you grabbed me, got me to tell you about the cabin, I saved your life and then you let me stay with you?”

“Something, something like that.” Arthur nodded, wanting to avoid the specifics about starving him first, and Kieran begging to be with them only to wind up, well, dead anyway by the same people they were meant to protect him from.

Kieran grinned. “Well I guess you saved me this time so history isn’t fully repeating is it?”

Arthur glanced up to meet those weirdly happy eyes. “Yeah, yeah I guess so. This doesn’t bother you?”

Kieran snorted. “Arthur I’ve spent so many, so many hours, days even in hospitals thinking I was going mad. I don’t know if it’s possible for two people to have the same dream or not, but if you’re having them too then I’m not alone.”

Arthur stood, took his chair and moved it closer to Kieran. “For me they’re, they’re not dreams, not, well not anymore. I had them when I was younger, but they’re more like memories are and not nightmares like yours.”

A frown formed on the other’s face and a pink tongue ran along Kieran’s lips in thought. “So you remember better, clearly, like everyone and everything that happened all the time, like when you want to remember?”

“No.” Arthur sighed. “It’s not always clear, and I don’t, like until I met John I wasn’t sure it was all real or that I remembered him just right, and then he was there in the library and I knew; I just knew. It’s like things were fuzzy; then I found him, you, and it’s not anymore, mostly not anyway.” Did he sound as dumb as he felt?

Kieran’s eyes went wide. “John, John has a past too? Does he remember me? How many others are there?”

Arthur grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Try to, try to keep it down some okay. John doesn’t believe me, and he doesn’t have the memories, not even dreams. Abigail, his son’s mother, and Jack, well he was young, they don’t have them either.”

Kieran pondered that over for a moment. “A whole family? Arthur you’re sure lucky you didn’t run around telling folks this, especially doctors. I mean…” Arthur must have been looking at him too hard, too stern like because his voice trailed off. “Oh, you, you were smarter than that weren’t you. You figured out it was probably not a good idea to tell everyone. Not like me.” He looked sad again. “I just wanted some help.”

“I was lucky Kieran. Mine came slowly over several years, so by the time I met John I was looking for answers not questioning my sanity. What happened to you…” Arthur couldn’t imagine if that had been his first memory what would’ve happened. Instead they were gradual like, soft even, with images of rivers he’d never been too, beautiful forests on mountains, plains as wide as the eyes could see, and horses. And not just any horses but ones he could almost smell, hear their nicker and felt a connection to, a bond of some sort; their names were almost on the tip of his tongue.

“How much, how much do you know about that, about what happened to me I mean?” Kieran interrupted his musing.

“Only the end result and kind of figured the rest together. Were you able to sleep last night? I didn’t hear you wake up again.”

Kieran grabbed his coffee and downed a few big gulps before nodding. “I haven’t had that kind of good sleep in, well, years. It was just getting worse and worse and then last night, after all that, they didn’t come back. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that Arthur.”

Relief. It washed over him so completely that Arthur felt more convinced than ever that all this was coming together, meant to be. Kieran belonged here because no matter how he’d join the gang before, he was one of them in the end and certainly now. “This is going to be hard on John, real hard. I don’t… if he says anything I don’t want you running off for long or taking it personal. John doesn’t process this sort of thing real well at first, but he will, he will.” Arthur assured Kieran as well as himself. 

Kieran chuckled nervously. “I don’t imagine a lot of people would. We’re talking about past lives, and my nightmare is my death, of being tortured and, and killed. And yours are… what happened to you anyway? Do you remember dying?”

Arthur worried at his arm briefly with a coarse palm. “Let’s talk about that another time; John’s going to be out for breakfast soon.”

And as if summoned, John did walk in wearing dark denim jeans taunt against his defined waist, using a white towel against his hair and lacking a shirt entirely which gave them both a view of his lightly muscled body. Arthur wasn’t sure John coming out here half naked was good thing or not, but considering he met Kieran fully nude, maybe this didn’t mean much. 

“I don’t know how fair it is that you two were talking and just kind of stopped because I walked into the room.” John didn’t smile, but his dark eyes also didn’t suggest real agitation either.

Arthur stood, approached John and leaned in to give him a quick kiss against the cheek and neck, which his lover accepted, before getting the toast ready. 

“I was, I was just thanking Arthur for last night. That dream I had, it was real, real bad as you know…” Kieran’s eyes dropped to the table again.

John gave Arthur a frown but took a seat at the table accepting coffee without too much fuss. “Yeah it sounded real bad. I’m glad Arthur helped you settle down so you could sleep.”

Kieran gave a weak smile.

A couple minutes later Arthur gave them their scramble with toast and butter and joined them for a too quiet breakfast. After a few minutes, he decided to try and warm things up a bit. “So John is going to take you to the library today Kieran, help you get a card. You have ID right?”

Kieran nodded. “I haven’t been to a library in years. Is it far?”

John shook his head. “Just a few stops away. Arthur likes to walk everywhere like he’s some sort of horse, but I ride the bus because it’s the modern age, and that’s what people do.”

Arthur huffed but smiled.

“I bet that’s not free. Listen, I’ll make it up to you, to you both. I promise. I’ll get on my feet and earn…”

“Don’t worry about that just yet.” Arthur assured Kieran before the man got all nervous again. “I know you’ll do what you can when you can. For now, you just need to rest up and get situated. When you’re ready we’ll talk about what’s going on with you.”

Kieran glanced at John and thankfully John just gave him a nod in agreement.

“So John works security, and his schedule isn’t all that regular but it’s often at night. I work at night as you probably remember. I leave before lunch hour and stay pretty late.”

“At a warehouse.” John scooped up some eggs and kept eating, watching them a little too intently which actually made Arthur start to feel a little nervous himself.

“Right…” Arthur glanced at Kieran. “So while John has a partial shift today, I’m hoping you’ll spend some time at the library and the park.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. John got me at the park before. I know the bench.”

“You don’t have to be at the same bench Kieran. The park isn’t that big.” John sounded annoyed, but his boy sure seemed to be trying. 

“Okay, okay just meet at the park then. Okay. Got it.” Kieran assured shooting Arthur an uncertain glance.

John finished and stood. “Arthur, when you’re done with your breakfast, can you come see me in our room before you shower?” He dropped off his dishes in the sink, grabbed his coffee and exited to the bedroom.

Kieran swallowed apprehensively. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Arthur stood and took his dish to the sink too. He gave Kieran a firm squeeze on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time with breakfast and go ahead and turn on the TV if you like.” As soon as he walked into the bedroom he closed the door.

John pulled on his a white t-shirt and faced his lover with a firm expression on his face. “I know this is important to you Arthur, but I don’t really understand it. Something strange happened last night, and that man, Kieran…” He immediately corrected himself before Arthur could finish interrupting him. “Acts like he knows you. You act like you know him. This isn’t good for you.”

Arthur drew a deep breath and decided to take a seat on the bed, just straddling a corner in the hopes that him sitting down might help calm his lover. “He needs our help John.”

“We’re not in the position to be helping anyone.”

“Sure we are. We have a couch; we have food.”

John turned and leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, just sort of studying him. “My boss hates me. He’s barely giving me any hours at all. If you keep working like you are, you’re going to get hurt, just wear yourself down. With Jack needing surgery, we just, I don’t know we can do this Arthur.”

“Jack needs surgery?” Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. That sounded serious.

John sighed. “Abigail texted me this morning, said that’s what the dentist said, something about his adult teeth coming behind or alongside, something with his baby teeth. Her insurance is okay, but there’s a lot upfront costs. Because he’s young we can wait a little bit, but Arthur, it’s going to be some money.”

Arthur leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head for a moment. “We’ll figure this out John. We always do. You heard Kieran. He just needs a little time, then he’ll find work. You’ll see. He’s a good worker.”

John snorted. “Him? The guy you found being mugged in an alley with no place to call home. You think he’s just going to find a job somewhere? Arthur do you even know what he was doing in an alley in the middle of the night?”

“Didn’t ask him.”

“Of course you didn’t!” John approached him and kneeled, wrapping his rough hands around Arthur’s, his hoarse voice almost soft, certainly full of emotion. “I get you think this guy is important, is a key to something you’ve been looking for for a long time, but Arthur we don’t owe him anything. And he is just going encourage this, this obsession you have with the past.”

Arthur stared at their joined hands, teetering between anger and despair while trying to settle somewhere in the middle. “Trust me John. You don’t have to trust him, but trust me. Please.”

John stood and sighed. “There isn’t anyone in the world I trust and love more than you Arthur. I just…”

“I’ll go to the food pantry.” Arthur looked up and met those dark eyes. “You won’t have to go. I’ll do it, and I’ll do it as long as it takes for us to get on our feet. And you tell Abigail to get one of those, those payment plans for Jack’s surgery. I’ll get her the money for the first payments, several of them, so she don’t have to worry about that.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“And YOU don’t have to worry about that.”

“Arthur…”

No one blinked for a while. “John. I’ll get the money.”

John’s expression made him continue.

“And I swear there won’t be anything illegal about it. I swear it. Have, have faith in me.”

And then something flickered in John’s eyes, a flash of something Arthur didn’t recognize, but as soon as it appeared, John blinked, looked around the room and sighed. It was gone. “Okay Arthur. We’ll do this your way. Kieran stays.”


	11. Chapter 11 – Have Faith in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there's a reason John has trouble keeping jobs he's just not cut out for.

John finished putting his street clothes in his locker and pulled on his pathetic blue almost grey uniform. He was basically a rent a cop with a can of pepper spray, a small club and a bigger flashlight that he could use as a club. Were there worse jobs to have in this world than walking around some sort of strip mall chasing teenagers or maybe in the actual mall during the day being laughed at? It was, well it was like hell on Earth made only bearable because he got to go home to Arthur every day. He knew, knew his lover would hate that he didn’t put Abigail or Jack at the top of that list, but the thing was being around them made him feel even more pathetic. Maybe he wasn’t an actual deadbeat dad because he did come around, and they gave money when they could, well mostly Arthur did; John sure as hell was a loser. Jack seemed delighted to just walk around the park, or go window shopping in second hand stores or just do stupid silly things that had the word free in front of it, but it didn’t make John feel any better. He didn’t avoid time with Jack because he didn’t love his son, because of course he did; John just kept it minimal because he wasn’t worthy of the boy, and he couldn’t give him much of anything and certainly didn’t need to expose the child to the daily lives of pathetic people. Abigail, at least she had a job with some benefits and an apartment on the better side of town.

Normally John started most his shifts with a particular strong dose of self-loathing, but something happened today that left him distracted. No, it wasn’t the awkward breakfast, or the extra time he took to make Kieran a meager lunch and get him a library card, or even the fact that Kieran’s mere presence seemed to enforce and encourage Arthur’s delusion, but that wasn’t what lingered in his head. Arthur asked John to have faith in him, but that’s not what John heard at first, and that’s what startled him. You have got to keep faith; that’s what he heard, but… but it wasn’t Arthur’s voice, and it didn’t seem… right. John didn’t know what the hell that was, but he knew one thing, he wasn’t about to lose this job because he let himself get pulled into Arthur’s craziness. They needed the money. John sighed, resting his palm against the cold metal in-front of him. Did they seem happier though, Arthur and Kieran? It’s like the two of them shared something together that John didn’t really understand, but if Arthur felt, well more confident thinking he had something connecting him to Kieran how bad could it be?

“Marston!”

John startled out of his musings and turned to see his short and round boss, his black hair barely covering a balding head, a scowl sketching wrinkles against a sweaty brow just above two small eyes and a nose that looked constantly squished.

“Yes sir.”

“It looks like you’re about to start your shift on time today, very good.”

How come praise sounded almost the same as being yelled at from this guy, John wondered. “Yes sir. I, well I am always on time…” Arthur hammered that on time thing a couple of years ago, actually insisted he show up at least ten minutes early every time, just to be sure.

“Yeah, yeah I suppose you are.” The other man grumbled and looked at his clipboard. “Same route as usual, but before you go I need to talk to you, again, about the kids.”

John straightened his back and shut his locker. “I swear, I swear I didn’t bother any kids. I don’t see how just keeping an eye on some kids is really bothering them anyhow when that’s really part of my job.”

“I’m not talking about those brats you tend to chase away for good measure. This one is a baby.”

“A, aaah, baby?” John felt stupid saying that out loud because of course he heard the man, but how could a baby complain? This didn’t sound right at all. “I didn’t harass a baby or anything. I don’t understand how I could get a complaint…”

“Don’t be stupid Marston. I’ve told you a least a dozen times to stop scaring the little ones.”

“But I didn’t…”

“The mother said they were just hanging around the door, and you stopped by to harass her and her baby.”

John blinked. “Oh, oh no, no. I didn’t stop her or warn her or anything. The baby was fussing, so I just, you know, smiled and then he quieted down.” John felt relief and smiled himself because this was all just a misunderstanding, had to be. “You see my son Jack used to be like…”

“Do you think I’m stupid Marston?”

“No, not really. I was just saying that…”

“You think I’m going to believe that a man with a face like yours, with scars like that, is going to wind up calming a baby?”

The smile vanished from John’s face. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he felt his heart beat quicken as well as his ears began to burn in an effort to keep from getting too upset or just angry. They couldn’t afford him losing a job right now, so he just stayed silent, not trusting himself to say anything.

“Now get out there and do your job Marston. Once again, stop looking at the kids, you scare them. Just chase off the bigger ones, but let’s keep those complaints down shall we?” The man walked off leaving John standing there still speechless.

After a minute or two John managed to grab his flashlight, club and went to do his rounds. By the third or fourth time he raised his fingers to his scars, John realized what he was doing and managed to shove his free hand in his pocket to avoid distraction. Hold it together, he reminded himself. Every night Arthur went down to those warehouses to do a job he didn’t like, working late and hard hours when the man preferred early mornings just to pay the bulk of their bills. The least he could do was handle this, whatever someone might call this so they could keep going. His throat tightened up, and he walked faster than usual even though it wouldn’t make his shift any shorter.

Very gently John ran his thumb over the plastic clamshell of their only phone. They used to have two, but they had to cut back with Arthur deciding John needed it more since his job could put him into actual trouble away from a landline. He wished his boyfriend had it now though. He would’ve liked to hear Arthur’s voice or see one of those mini messages he used to get reminding him to keep his chin up. Instead by the time John finished his late shift, he managed to get on the bus, walk to the library to make sure Kieran wasn’t there and made it all the way to the park without looking a single person in the eye.

“John!” Kieran’s voice cut through John’s cloud sharply enough for him to look up quickly and see the younger man approach him with three books in hand, one that looked like some sort of cooking book, one about home repair and another about the Old West.

John groaned. Whatever mood he was in now, this was definitely not the time for Kieran to start talking to him about westerns and whatever else those two chatted about. “Come on. Let’s get home. I’ve got dinner to cook.”

Kieran nodded quickly and fell in step behind him. “So how was work?”

“Awful as usual.” John muttered.

Kieran glanced at him. “Oh, oh I’m, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For you having a bad day at work.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with that.” John almost consciously realized he was being an ass to someone who was just trying to talk to him, but he probably couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

“Oh I know. I’m still sorry though. You seem like a nice guy John. It doesn’t seem right you have to come home feeling like you are.”

John glanced at him this time and frowned. “Life’s not exactly fair for a lot of us.” Try. John could almost hear Arthur’s voice in his head. “So you find enough to do at the library?”

Kieran nodded enthusiastically. “I sure did. I kind of forgot they had so much there, and there were plenty of magazines, and I got on the list for some movies I thought, well I hope we might like.”

“We?”

“Well sure. You liked that one, so I found some other movies that might be fun.”

“Kieran…”

“I’m not saying you have to watch them with me, only, only that you could and might like it if you do. I mean if you want to, not having to or anything.” Kieran’s voice trailed off.

John sighed as they entered the bus. He wasn’t about to crush Kieran’s hope over nothing was he? No. No of course not. “Okay.” He closed his eyes and tried to wallow properly in his misery, except Kieran kept talking.

“Does Arthur like biscuits?”

This time John frowned and opened his eyes to peer at Kieran steadily. “What?”

“Does, does Arthur like biscuits?”

“Yeah, I, well I guess so. We don’t really make those very often.”

“And do you?”

“Kieran.” John squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the woman who sat next to him that smelled like she bathed in perfume. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Well see my grandma and grandpa taught me how to cook, and I saw some chicken breasts in the fridge, and we have some flour and some vegetables, so I thought I would, umm cook dinner tonight.”

Great. John thought. Younger, eager to cook and maybe more capable once back on his feet. Kieran was already well on his way to replacing him. “Fine, whatever.”

Kieran didn’t look convinced with John’s verbal permission which meant the boy wasn’t a complete idiot and that he kept pestering on their walk home from the bus stop.

“I think you’d really like it.”

“You certainly don’t know me well enough to say something like that.” John hissed in reply, walking a little faster.

“What I mean is it will be good, and, and you can relax too.

John glanced at Kieran again.

Nervously Kieran kept going. “It will need to cook awhile, so you can relax before dinner, while I cook and clean is all I’m saying.”

“Clean?”

“Well I used to work a laundromat and let me tell you for a place that everyone goes to get things clean, they sure know how to make a mess.” Kieran laughed softly.

Unfortunately John didn’t laugh with him and just let him into the apartment scowling as he hung his coat up and watched the other man hesitantly enter the kitchen. 

“Please John let me, let me help. Honest I’m just trying to earn my keep and help. I won’t…”

“Kieran, it’s okay. Just do what you want to do. I’m going to lay down for a little bit, so I can be up when Arthur gets home. He likes hot food best, so if you can keep whatever you have warm for him or heat it up, do that.”

“Okay John.”

Even though John heard disappointment in Kieran’s voice, he just didn’t have it in him to reassure anyone at the moment. Instead he entered their bed, flopped himself on the bed and just stared at the alarm clock until he must’ve fallen asleep.

“John.”

A few hours later John woke up to a large but gentle hand squeezing his shoulder and the warmth of Arthur’s voice. 

“Hey John, wake up. Kieran said you didn’t have dinner, so he’s heating it for both of us. Come on, you gotta eat; we ain’t that poor yet.”

John rolled over and looked up to see Arthur’s sincere smile and eyes peering down at him. He still didn’t have it in him to respond properly though and just sighed. “I used to skip meals and didn’t die. I think I’m not so old it’ll kill me now.”

“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think?” Arthur cupped John’s cheek and kissed him. “Come on. Get up.”

He didn’t resist too hard when Arthur pulled him into a sitting position and wrapped a strong arm around him. “So you want to tell me what’s going on, or do we have to pretend for a little while you won’t tell me only for you to tell me later when I push harder?”

John snorted. “You really think you can read me like an open book don’t you?”

Arthur nuzzled his ear and hair and whispered softly. “I sort of like knowing the person I love. What happened John? Did you ask for more hours, and he said no?”

Shit. “I, I didn’t get a chance to ask Arthur; I’m sorry. I’ll, I’ll remember next time.”

Arthur gave a brief huff. “If it’s not that what is it?”

“Just a bad day at work. I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss about it.” John snapped.

Of course Arthur didn’t take the bait, nor did he walk away. “If you’re not being treated well there, quit.”

“Right. And I’ll just jump into one of those other dozen jobs I’ve got lined up.” John rubbed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll eat if you just, just let this drop.”

Arthur peered at him for a moment and then kissed John’s temple. “I’ll let it drop today anyway. Come on. It smells really good.”

And it really did. When they emerged from the bedroom to sit at the table Kieran just finished scooping the mixture with plump herb biscuits into their bowl. “It’s more casserole this way than like real chicken and dumplings, and it’s got broccoli because that’s what we had. I’d…”

Arthur gently grasped Kieran’s wrist and squeezed. “It’s looks great Kieran. Why don’t you freshen up and climb into bed. Since John napped we’re going to stay up a little later today. You can read that book you got.”

“Oh okay, okay.” Kieran cleaned up the counter, grabbed his book and set it on the coffee table in the living area when Arthur corrected him.

“Kieran the actual bed. We’ll join you later.” He waited for Kieran to retrieve his book before continuing. “Close the door please.”

John just dug into the biscuit, finding it moister than he was expecting soaking in the soup, or whatever Kieran wanted to call it, pretty flavorful and comforting. He knew the other man was trying to get his attention, but John wouldn’t give Kieran any sort of eye contact. A part of him knew if he did, it wouldn’t be kind or welcoming, and he just didn’t want to object to what Arthur was saying right now because that wasn’t really him, just the him that was trying hard not to scratch at scars which he didn’t even think about most days. Once Kieran vanished into their bedroom John did meet Arthur’s gaze though. “No TV tonight? You grounding him or something?”

“He’ll be fine reading a book. You and I need that couch.” Arthur went back to eating, but John found his spoon stopped in midair.

“Need it for what?”

“TV, snuggling… whatever.” Arthur tried to hide a smile behind his spoon, but that man just couldn’t hide his amusement that well, and with his size and strength, rarely had to anyway.

John ate his spoonful of casserole, downed some water. “Is, is whatever what you want to do, or is it, is it something I want to do?”

“I figure it’s something we both want to do at this point.”

Hot Damn. John nearly choked down the rest of his food. He was just too excited to finish politely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little extra time off, so yeah I wrote. I actually wrote a few chapters in this one and another in the other piece, but umm, well this was the first one I felt was ready to show. I hope most enjoy it.


	12. Chapter 12 – Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is waiting. Arthur is kind of clueless, but in the end... well, you know.

Once John finished up dinner so fast his brain hardly registered he ate at all, he let Arthur do the dishes and began straightening up around the couch. It wasn’t that the area was messy at all really because they didn’t have enough stuff to just throw around to make a mess in the first place. Still, he wanted to flip over the blanket to remove any smells of another person, fluffed the pillows, turned off the lights and allowed just the glow of some nature channel to illuminate the room. John sat down and waited while Arthur just took his sweet time wiping down the table, counter and the door handle of the fridge.

Now John volunteered to anyone he felt comfortable enough to tell that he pursued Arthur. He’d been excited and attracted to the man so hard and fast that the desire to see him, be near him and finally have sex with him sparked a fire in his belly that so consumed his thoughts he’d forgotten what a shitty life he was having for a while. But the thing about excitement was… he’d never seen Arthur really have it. Since the moment they met, despite what those beautiful eyes might tell him, despite all the tales he heard from Arthur or read about when he half-heartedly helped the man look for clues to… something, not much seemed to really startle or excite Arthur. Hell a couple years back they’d been walking down the street and some old car backfired which sent nearly everyone ducking except Arthur who just turned towards the noise, reached for his concealed weapon and looked ready to respond only he saw right away it was a car, not a threat. It was also one of the few times Arthur looked, well, disappointed John was dropped down with everyone else. At the time, John didn’t fully understand what that was, but once they were at the range, and Arthur started teaching him how to aim and fire and trying to get him to still himself against all the distractions, he finally realized Arthur was looking at him to be a lot more like that other guy than he was. It was days like that when John really hated old John Marston, the little shit occupying Arthur’s head instead of the John standing in front of him. They’d adjusted though, over time, and came to accept certain things, well at least until Kieran showed-up. He tried really hard to ignore the fact the younger man, who probably encouraged this problem between them, was in their bedroom right now reading, so he could focus on the fact Arthur was warming up for John’s most favorite past time event.

Okay, so Arthur remained pretty terrible with romance and probably thought cleaning up the kitchen right now was just the thing to do while his eager, younger and usually very vocal lover just sat on the couch fidgeting until more happened. And maybe, maybe John understood that to Arthur not having to worry about anything right after, not messes, not work and not Kieran who might have fallen asleep already safe and sound in a bed just meant more focus, more time and therefore better everything. Except John didn’t need or want that right now. He needed his lover over here telling him he was, well he was someone Arthur wanted to be with and not someone who just pestered him into a relationship. John wanted warm lips against his ear and neck taking him away from all this disappointment and hurt, and maybe, if he was lucky, the man might say something about his looks, something nice, and something to soothe the burn he still felt from earlier but couldn’t bring himself to admit to actually feeling. Just when John was about to stand up in frustration and tell Arthur to leave the damn glasses wet, the older man approached, a warm if puzzled smile on his face as he took a seat.

John had to glance away for a moment because he realized Arthur knew. His lover, his man… those light eyes just bore into him as if they could see directly into his soul which created both a warmth in the core of his being as well as doubt. Did this mean Arthur wanted to do this because he knew John was feeling down, feeling not okay, or did he want to do this because he felt desire too? What if, what if this was all about something other than attraction? What if…

“John.” Arthur’s nearby calm voice cut through his flurry of thoughts and gained his attention as well as his gaze. A large hand cupped John’s cheek, a rough thumb ran along his jaw line while a mutual gaze began to unravel the knots in the world around them so the concentration could finally just center on the two of them.

“Sorry.” John whispered, swallowing thickly. “If you don’t want to do this Arthur, it’s okay. I just. I need you to know that.”

The quiet between them seemed to linger too long, but he realized it was because those blue eyes studied him, and no doubt Arthur considered everything the man noticed since he came home today, including whatever Kieran might’ve told him before he woke John up. “You don’t have that kind of power over me John.”

John’s heart fell slowly.

“You’ve never been able to force me into doing something in our relationship I didn’t want to do John, so you gotta know by now that if I want to sleep with you, it’s because you’re the closest person to my heart, and the only one I reach for in the morning. You should know it’s been more than a few days since our last romp, and with a young eager lover as I have, I’m not used to going that long without, and I am starting to understand the complaints some others have when they don’t have someone so eager at home for them like I do.” Arthur leaned forward, brushed his lips against John’s ear so warm breath followed his next words. “And darling, I know you don’t trust me enough right now to tell me everything that’s bothering you in way you think I can understand, but you trusting me with your heart, your body and our future means so much to me John, my beautiful John.”

His heart sang. 

John turned quickly to capture Arthur’s mouth in a needy exchange of nipping lips, pressing tongues and desperate breaths of air. He’d have pounced the man good and hard if they weren’t already on the couch, not already gripping and pulling, holding as they were. When their kiss ended, Arthur looked perplexed again, curious even and smiled because the big dolt had no idea, no clue how perfect his words had been just now. It didn’t matter. John grabbed his shirt and tried to tear it off his large frame.

“Easy John.” Arthur cautioned when the top shirt went and then the under shirt was yanked with such a hurry they both heard the fabric stretch. 

“No one sees that anyway.” John licked his lips, let his fingers run along the sparsely hairy pec muscles, adoring the firmness of their mass and ran a thumb against each hard nipple before he dropped to work on those pants. “Stand-up Arthur. I want them off.”

Arthur huffed a brief chuckle, his light eyes already beginning to shift color due to the admiring petting John gave his body. If John didn’t know better, he’d say those eyes transformed form blue to green to blue again during their love making but that couldn’t be right, could it? Either way his lover always responded so well, so incredibly well to even the most minor touching, but Arthur still futilely tried to slow a sex starved John down. “Alright. Easy John. Just, just slow down a bit. I only need a moment…”

He was completely cut-off when John threw his own shirt off and grasped desperately at the exposed skin once Arthur opened his buckle and freed the button. Good thing both the zipper and the fabric remained sturdy since John just wrenched those things down Arthur’s big thighs as quickly as he could manage. The one thing they didn’t cheap out on were jeans for Arthur’s substantial body. The cheap stuff didn’t last, and his lover worked too long hours to risk a rip. Despite both them knowing this, the older man still tried to slow John down some while stepping out of his jeans and pressing a hand firmly against John’s shoulder for leverage and control, but like most things that tried to control John Marston for too long while fire warmed his belly, he failed. John wiggled and ducked, getting away from those coarse fingers and maneuvered behind him. He grabbed the white fabric that hugged Arthur’s hips and just tugged down hard and fast eliciting a slightly startled gasp from the blonde followed by a deep grunt when hand and palm, the entire set, grasped each cheek of that strong ass. 

“John.” Arthur cautioned fruitlessly.

John soon palmed himself, his cock growing, trapped in his lower clothes. He kissed Arthur’s right shoulder and then bit the same area hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. “Couch, now, or I’ll do it deeper on the other side.”

They both knew John wasn’t lying because he’d bit Arthur before, broke skin and left a scar and everything. Okay, so maybe he got a little carried away then, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. Arthur arrived late and drunk and smelling like someone else’s cologne. Okay, yeah it was his fault because it turned out to be a misunderstanding, except the late part, but the angry sex been something they’d both enjoyed… there’d been proof enough of that.

Arthur grunted lowly. “I think one love bite is enough to last any man for a lifetime.” He complied though, just the same, and walked away from John to press one knee and then the other onto their well-seasoned couch. He waved at his jacket though. “I forgot something I brought home for this, in the pocket.”

John had to process that a little too long because he was remained focused on removing the rest of his clothes and what was to follow over really letting those words sink in. Once John’s brain caught up with his ears, he walked over to the jacket and fished out a relatively small piece of black fabric. Carefully he unfolded it. “A bandana…?” He shot Arthur a questioning look but didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Are we finally going to do it? Are you going to let me…?”

“We’re not playing thieves or bandits or any of that nonsense John.” Arthur looked just a tad comical glaring at him like that with his bare ass and slightly hairy thighs open to the world as they were. “I told you that’s not some sort of game to be playing.”

John snorted but approached, equally bare, not nearly as sculpted, but he managed to keep a few muscles defined around his abdomen, had thighs that helped him pick up some heavy sacks of whatever the hell it was their landlord had him haul up the stairs that one time, but his arms, hell he had nothing compared those massive tree branches his lover showcased. “It looks kind of long. Oh!” He felt his excitement rise again. “Who gets to be tied-up, me or you?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s not for that either. It’s for me John to, you know…”

John frowned in confusion.

Arthur’s entire face began to turn beet red and seemed exasperated by John’s inability to follow his line of thinking. “I’m not so quiet. Kieran’s in the other room, and we had that one neighbor a year back that complained about us, so I thought, you know...”

Aaah. John got it, and the excitement didn’t fade one ounce. “This is going to be the best thing we’ve ever done. I’m just… oh my god.” John just let the words slip right off his tongue despite knowing how embarrassed this made his lover feel or how much Arthur hated talking about anything to do with sex. Hell the way those ears on the older man began to turn red too made John believe might’ve just put the whole thing at risk, so he moved quickly. Even though he’d never touched a bandana in his life, hell kind of wondered how he knew this was thick and quality stuff to begin with, he seemed to know just how to work it, leave enough for the tie in the back and managed to gag his partner liked he’d done this at least a dozen times before. Arthur’s beautiful blues peered back at him when he was done, but they weren’t scared or mad or anything like that. It seemed like a mixture of lust, appreciation and… awe? Whatever it was, it spurred John onward although with just a slightly less aggression than how he started. “That ex-neighbor of ours was an ass, just itching to try and get us kicked out.” And John wasn’t having any of that. As much as he disliked the area, hated his job and how small the place felt, it was clean, they didn’t walk over junkies in the hall, and the landlord picked up the phone the few times they called. No way in hell was he going to let some prude next door push him out so he and that man had some… words.

And then things got a little unusual. Arthur rarely instigated much talk during sex, hell he didn’t seem to need to talk much at all unless he thought people around him either needed it or expected it. The silence now that John gagged his partner, at Arthur’s request of course, made the densely populated area seem unusually quiet. Sure he still heard the cars passing by outside, somewhere out there was some dog the owner couldn’t bother being polite for their neighbors, and that bastard upstairs near the end of the hall might be arguing with his girlfriend, his mom… or any other woman he couldn’t respect again, but compared to their usual exchange, it just felt strangely noiseless and almost familiar. For just a moment, a blink of any eye really, it was like this all happened before. Not the buck naked and warming-up part but the gag part, the bandana in mouth bit except John remembered heat and sweat and wrists being tied, squirming, and he was tied with… Arthur. It wasn’t right because that never happened, and the anger, the rage to the point of being ready to kill felt so alien because John never killed anyone in his life. 

Arthur must’ve noticed something because those light eyes, willing and eager to let John lead them into a night of pleasure and release moved to something more akin to concern. He reached up to remove the gag only John stopped him with a slightly more sharp command than intended. “Don’t just, just give me a minute.” When he received a skeptical and continued worried gaze, John approached his kneeling lover, pressed his lips against an impressive shoulder and whispered assurances. “Just a memory, not a bad one, I promise.” And it wasn’t really a lie because it wasn’t real and the emotions he felt from it were not so bad so much as unfamiliar.

Fortunately Arthur settled down, closed his eyes and gave a brief nod which signaled they could continue. John felt grateful for that, at least, because he’d been itching, eager, and anxious for this for far too long and here they were, on THE couch with Arthur kneeling and looking almost relaxed with cloth in his mouth telling him yes, yes this was really going to happen! Okay. Calm down. Get rid of those strange images in your head and focus on the fact that you have your Arthur, Arthur Morgan kneeling on the couch naked just… waiting for you to continue. Only that image came back again, rope around their wrists, cloth crammed in their mouths and tied tight to prevent them from saying anything, almost to the point of choking. It was as if he could feel it now, the dryness of it, and the desperation, a live or die situation that…

“John…”

At some point Arthur must’ve removed the bandana and now sat near him, his strong hands lightly touching John’s shoulder trying to coax him back to him, to sit down which he did. “I’m, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked earnestly.

“I don’t, don’t know. Must be a scene from a movie or something.” John lied, too easily for his taste, as if he were some sort of pro at it instead of being terrible like he really was when it came to trying to get one over either Abigail or Arthur.

Arthur’s expression advertised he didn’t believe him, but the warm glow remained in those beautiful eyes and carried easily with his reply. “Let’s just not try so hard tonight alright? Why don’t we do it more natural like, easy like you did those early days?”

John laughed softly and accepted Arthur’s upturned hand. “You call that easy?”

His lover squeezed his hand, tightly and kissed just the side of John’s neck, so he could get close and whisper against his ear. “Remember the first time you invited me over to your home for dinner and a movie? We wound up sitting on that old couch of yours watching that silly movie in the apartments with that ugly thing going from unit to unit poking them with a ring.”

“Troll.” John murmured; both his mind and body agreed with this new approach. Maybe there was less of a frenzy to it, and not nearly as hot as being tied up or gagged implied, but he felt his cock and heart yearn for more.

“Mmhmm.” Arthur whispered and a strong hand grasped John’s chin, turning him to ensure a warm kiss. “And you tried to touch my shoulder, and knee and get your arm around me.”

In between kisses, when their tongues didn’t brush against one another and lungs managed to gain some oxygen, John replied. “When you kept rejecting me, I really thought there was something wrong with me. I have this incredibly handsome man with the patience of a saint, listening to my every word as tell him about my life, my hopes and dreams, and he recoils from me every time our skin touched. But he came over when I called, so I must’ve been doing something wrong right?”

Arthur chuckled lowly. They both knew the older man resisted at first now, and the heartache and struggle, and John’s disappearance almost destroyed everything when it all came out except no hesitation really linger now, and Arthur’s hand moved across his chest and splayed against his firm if slim abdomen. Thick fingers brushed against his eager cock. John moaned while Arthur agreed. “I suspect no one would really call either one of us that charming.”

John huffed and grabbed Arthur’s wrist to hold it there, flush against his eager cock, coarse fingers firm enough that just a thrust of his hip created enough friction for a little pleasure. “I have you know I had some partners in my life. It can’t be because I am such an idiot all the time.”

For a moment a brief amount of sadness flickered in his Arthur’s eyes, and John knew he’d done it again, he’d accidently stepped onto something in Arthur’s past. “We’re so, so bad at this.” John sighed and whispered.

“Nah.” Arthur replied immediately, slipped to the floor and kissed John’s left knee then his right and worked his way up an inner thigh. “Hard days is all. Speaking of hard…” Arthur’s fingers wrapped around John’s filling flesh and he wasted no time in wrapping his lips that eager flesh.

A wet and tiny nubbed tongue felt more than good enough to silence and center John’s attention real good. Sure, Arthur wasn’t an expert in this area, but he learned pretty fast, and that tongue dancing along the slit of his cock drawing up the early juices and then circling the glans like that left John panting hard and unable to reply. He swallowed heavily and ran his fingers through Arthur’s short hair when the older man took him deeper and deeper inside, partially down his throat. His fingers tightened suddenly as he felt a throb and a tingle that tightened his balls and flexed his toes. “Wait, wait. I want… I need.”

Arthur withdrew, kissed John’s inner thigh and moved upward, leaning over and against him until he was wedged between John’s legs and kissing him again, warm, eager and clearly signifying that yes, yes his lover wanted this too. “I know. I know John.” Soon a tongue played with his earlobe and a simple question followed. “Me or you?”

The last thing John wanted right now was to have to make a decision except his heart trembled, clenched and sang knowing that Arthur naturally needed to know what John wanted. “I… just want you to want, to want me.” That didn’t even answer the question or make much sense. John squeezed his eyes shut trying hard, so hard to hold onto the mood he so desperately sought to ignite. He wanted to keep this going, but he felt like any minute now it was going to crumble and fall apart faster than Arthur’s crazy stories built around them.

The quiet and stillness loitered for what felt like a minute, maybe two but probably wasn’t longer than a few deep breaths. Arthur pressed his lips against John’s closed lids and kissed them, twice each. “Don’t move.” His deep and steady voice pulled John away from the chaotic pit he felt he could fall into. Moments later the older man walked away from the couch, rummaged around in their media center, found their lube, and returned. 

Anticipation wound John up pretty tight to the point where he could barely focus, but Arthur soon and wrapped his powerful arm around John’s waist, guiding him to kneel against the couch, and that brought him back, engrossed him. When the man’s strong fingers caressed his right cheek and then a single finger pressed against his puckered opening, that helped too. “Jesus John, you’re pretty tight. How long it’s been since we’ve done this?” Arthur chuckled quietly. 

John peered over his shoulder and gave Arthur a flushed grin. “You on me? Well, a bit I guess, but it’s not your fault really. I just have a habit of, you know, jumping you when you get home.” And looking at Arthur now, kneeling himself on one knee, broad shoulders, eyes focused and brow scrunched like this was real serious business, well it wasn’t a real hard mystery as to why John felt so eager to get together, all the time. Hell, when those light blue eyes finally lifted to meet his after adding a second finger and realizing John was looking at him, he felt his heart rapidly beat again. 

Arthur blushed. “What?”

“Just admiring the view.” John admitted.

His partner snorted and tried to ignore John’s goofy grin while he continued with the all-important task of readying them properly, slick fingers turning and scissoring their way against within Joh’s tight entrance. 

If it were up to Arthur, they’d be at that longer than the actual sex, so John did what was natural, whined about Arthur being too cautious, too safe. “Come on already. If you don’t hurry up…” His voice trailed off when Arthur withdrew his fingers and used his other hand to grasp John firmly by the head and turned his head right back around. The sizable man pressed his body right up against John, wide chest against his smaller back, warm skin and muscle against shoulder blades and an eager base. Then a hand spread his ass cheeks, the firm head of Arthur’s cock pressed against his slick opening and a couple of experimental thrusts pushed, pushed and finally with an audible gasp from John, and low rumble from Arthur, the head popped inside; the length soon followed.

John dropped his head, let his spine sag slightly, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the fullness and ache of such an intrusion. He refused the whimper trying to escape his throat because he knew if he made such a sound Arthur would not only stop but allow guilt to replace the incredible sensations that quickly built between them. John was already unbelievably hard thanks to Arthur’s delightful tongue and lips, so he knew it wouldn’t take long, but he tried to hold out, give Arthur a reason to flex thigh and ass muscles he couldn’t see just for the thrill of it, just for the knowing that able hefty body with the warm eyes and a deep sure voice choice belonged to him. And heaven help John, his Arthur just still excited him with nothing but a profound thrum in his throat, a darkened gaze or that drawl that showed up once in a while that had no real origin because the man had never been south for any period of time.

Arthur’s labored breathing and the continued sensation of feeling full and then empty and then full again sent sparks up John’s spine. John’s fingers curled into fists, balling the blanket covering their couch as he tried to remain relatively quiet and hold off just a bit longer, but he felt that angle changing with each stroke, that shift of his partner’s hips searching for just the right... John gasped, and it wasn’t quiet either. Having found that fine inner pleasure point, John’s Arthur placed a steady hand, palm firmly near John’s left hip, to help manage his lover while he writhed. At some point, near the brink of release, Arthur grabbed John’s right thigh too, and short thick nails bit into the meat of his leg. Arthur used that additional leverage to drive home hard and strong and fast, just how John liked it. He didn’t last long after that.

With a loud cry that John quickly smothered by pressing his face hard into the thinning seat cushions, he managed to buck forward in the throes of release without alarming their neighbors. And then he saw stars. Toes and fingers, legs and arms, and a rippling abdomen tingled while a small part of his brain made John realize he needed to breathe again. With his nose smashed against their living room furniture, his knees and legs curved like softening spaghetti noodles, and there was this sense of elation no words could describe, he had no energy for the effort. Fortunately Arthur, with his still very hard cock inside John’s his aching ass, maintained some amount of sense because a firm hand sort of yanked John away from the cushions, allowing him to gulp for air, and the other arm went under him to add needed to support to keep him upward. The thrusting began again.

Even though John still rode that wave, that lingering warm and fuzzy place he floated in just after a release, he recognized once his breathing began to steady again. He even managed a kind of silly smile because it was happening, that thing he told Mary-Beth about: Arthur Morgan’s stamina. It helped him at work, with chores and fixing the few things he knew how to fix, and certainly made John happy. If John hadn’t been wound up so tight he unraveled almost too quickly, it would’ve gone on a lot longer too, but with John satisfied already, Arthur didn’t waste much time or try to draw it out like he normally would. He grunted lowly, probably bit his lip just before hot seed splashed inside John within a minute or two of riding him like that. And then that heavy body trapped John against the couch, and it felt so incredibly right John wouldn’t have minded being stuck like that for hours, days even, not even if someone found them like two stupid hounds knotted together. Except they were human, and their sheen covered bodies began to cool, and when Arthur rolled off him and the fluid dripped down his thighs and legs, that started to cool too. Sex was fun; sex was messy, and sex required some cleaning up. Once they finished doing that together, John turned Arthur into a glorified bed and lay on him, bare ass naked and not really caring if Kieran walked in on them or not. He sort of started to drift off to sleep too. “Guess we only need that gag for when you’re the one…”

“Don’t talk about it John.” Arthur grumbled a deep warning but traced a shoulder blade gently letting John know he wasn’t really mad, not yet anyway.

John rolled to the side and damn near went right over the edge of their couch, but of course Arthur caught him. It was enough to get John’s blood pumping a bit though, so he grinned, wide and happy and feeling safe, secure and fully gratified. If it weren’t for earlier he would’ve called this one of the best days of his life. “You’ve never called me that before.”

Arthur kissed the top of his head and pulled a simple and inadequate throw over them, the kind of thing someone could pick up for five dollars after the holidays. “Hmm?”

“Darling. You’ve never called me that before.”

He felt the older man’s body tense. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay.” John cut off the apology because he wasn’t mad or offended or anything like that. “Your drawl came back, when you said that, and it was kind of hot.”

“Oh.” Arthur ran his sizable fingers from the bottom of John’s neck to the outline of his shoulder blade. “I guess it just slipped out. You don’t mind me calling you that?”

“No. You haven’t used that with someone else have you, some girl or some guy you left behind?”

A light groan sounded. “I don’t know how many times you gotta keep fishing John, but I told you before, I didn’t leave anyone behind anywhere. I barely had relationships longer than a few months, and those don’t even require one hand to count.” A large hand wearily covered the older man’s face for a moment. “Do we have to do this part every time John? Can’t we just lie here in silence for once?”

John lifted his eyes and smiled briefly. “You’re consistent; I’ll give you that. So you haven’t used it before for someone else?”

“John…” Arthur warned with a surprisingly lethal sounding growl.

“Okay. Okay. Just saying you can use that one if you, if you want. In the future I mean.” Arthur didn’t really respond to that, but John laid his head back down on the large chest anyway. He got both arms holding him tight in no time. “Can we just sleep out here?”

“You know my back can’t handle that.” Arthur whispered apologetically. “We can rest a little while though. I’ll get us to the bed. Don’t you worry… darling.”

John closed his eyes and chuckled. “Not sounding the same, and you worked up to it this time. It’s gotta be all natural like, spontaneous.”

Arthur snorted briefly but smiled.

John wasn’t fully asleep about an hour later when his lover managed to move somehow and carry him into the small bedroom where Arthur set him on the bed. He watched Arthur ever so gently remove the book from Kieran’s slack hands and maneuver the younger man on his side so there was room for all of them. Arthur even paused to run his fingers through Kieran’s hair to straighten it out and brush his cheek when a sob sounded and eyes moved behind the younger man’s lids like a nightmare might be forming. Once Kieran settled down again, and Arthur himself finally climbed into the bed, in the middle between them, John closed his eyes. Even if Arthur had this… thing in his head and for some reason Kieran felt the need to entertain it, luck must’ve favored John some, maybe even a lot, to give him Arthur. And John had just the idea to remind Arthur he knew it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably way too long, but I didn't want to break it up or remove the "change" because I think it gives some insight into their relationship. I started this piece with a working relationship in mind, so kind of getting peeks at how that came to be and what has been going on without literal flashbacks is, well it's my intention anyway.
> 
> And just to be clear, I am generally terrible with tags, and I find a mountain of them overwhelming but... I put slowborn in there not for this relationship. It took a little bit to get there, yes, but the other one(s) I have in mind were for that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13 – Strengthening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While struggling to reunite his past with his present, Dutch might start to realize that he has a little more soul searching to do and maybe more needs than he can even admit to himself.

Dutch closed his laptop, looking at his empty e-mail box while trying not to let the hurt settle too deeply inside his heart at the lack of response. They had an agreement, and so far both parties kept that promise, not just to the letter of what they discussed but the spirit of it. He had to keep the faith, in himself and in his estranged partner. In the end, the hardship, the work, the… loneliness would pay off. He felt that confidence resonate in his bones more than it ever did in the past. The path before him was not filled with cons or fast and loose tricks, but straight-up effort, some luck and, well, honesty. It would be enough to win them back, had to be.

Sighing he drank his iced bourbon and glanced at his continued companion, at the O’Driscoll, at Brae. Since their first incident where his house guest worked himself into exhaustion, things at least settled down a bit. Brae cleaned less feverishly and kept the place nice for the most part which gave him more time to settle and relax in the evenings. Dutch eventually returned home with the pledged package of socks and some basic sneakers which you’d think the man had never been given new before, and maybe, just maybe he hadn’t been. It reminded him so much of their boys; when either of them received something new, never been touched or worn by someone else their eyes would just light up, but only after the suspicion wore off, only after the fear that they created in their minds finally let go of their heart. Brae remained a little different, desperate really not just for what was given to him but for attention. He didn’t have the standoff nature Arthur used to show or the never ending challenges John gave them. It was like Arthur his eldest boy feared ever opening himself up, to being comfortable and hopeful for years and John, their little spitfire dared them, constantly, to throw him out, throw him away like he just knew the boy feared they would. Brae’s differences seemed deeper than being tied to his age, to being a man. Dutch never prepared himself for how powerfully these memories might return when faced with situations, familiar individuals that reminded him of such a harsh past.

Quietly he approached the other sleeping man, gently running his fingers along Brae’s brow, noticing how the color began to return to his skin and a peaceful expression emerged while the younger man slept. It replaced the pained, exhausted and discouraged features that so often dominated the handsome face. With just a few weeks of proper care and rest, visual changes easily overcame the sickly being that first arrived. Technology, medicine… none of that overtook the cure of a warm and soft bed and some food, the highlights of an existence worth living. “Brae. Hey. Wake up son. If you sleep too long now you won’t be able to sleep later tonight. I know you’re still drained, but you need to eat.”

Brae’s eyes opened slowly, and Dutch was rewarded with a slight nod and a weak smile. “I didn’t hear you come home.”

It warmed his heart immensely to hear Brae use that word. “Well that was done on purpose.” Dutch set two books in front of Brae, both with essays, journals and information about nature. “I noticed you are almost done with the others I gave you.”

Brae sat-up, rubbed his eyes and frowned at the thick offerings while running his fingers over their leather-bound covers. “I, I am, but Dutch these, these are hard to read. I told you I didn’t make it past the ninth grade.”

“And yet you’ve somehow managed to get through the other ones.” Dutch reminded. He walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the pounded chicken breasts that’d been marinating for a little while now. He sprinkled them liberally with olive oil, salt and seasonings before laying them rest in a hot pan.

Brae made his way to the table and drank the organic milk offered to him without complaint although Dutch realized right away the O’Driscoll did not like milk. It at least helped put meat on his body. “There isn’t much else to do around here. I was… Do you think maybe I can go to work with you at the warehouse?”

“No.” Dutch turned the thin chicken to brown each side and placed the chicken on the plates, added the wild rice he made early and kept warm in a pot as well as a good helping of green beans for both of them. He took a seat and noticed the disappointment, no devastation that quickly dominated Brae’s so recently calm expression. This remained a common theme they worked on, this swift shift in emotions often for completely exaggerated if not wholly imagined reasoning’s for it. “Brae, it’s all right.”

The younger man didn’t reach for his fork and just stared miserably at his meal while whispering his reply. “If I can’t work for you at the warehouse, I don’t know what I’ll do. No one else will hire me, and, and… if you say I have to...”

“Son, look at me.”

“It’s just…”

“Son look at me when you’re talking to me.” Dutch patiently waited for green eyes to meet his dark gaze. Some might’ve called him cold or indifferent to Brae’s open suffering, but he had to be strong, had to be firm as well as kind and not allow himself to succumb too quickly to his companion’s fears and pain. Brae needed to see that he could not only rely on his strength but understand Dutch was not reacting because he had a plan, a reason for the denial, and a logical one at that. Once Brae’s breathing steadied a bit, Dutch reached across the table and asked, silently, for the other’s hand. Reluctantly Brae gave it to him. Nothing, nothing steadied Brae more than simple and gentle touches. “You are in no shape to work there. It’s hard and physical work often done in the extreme cold or heat, rain or shine, strong wind or gentle breeze.” Dutch kept his voice calm and soothing. “You’re still recovering son, and you’re better off staying here to rest and expand your mind while you do it.”

Brae shifted his gaze back to the table. “I’m never going to be a teacher or nothing. I don’t see the point.”

“Or anything.” Dutch carefully released his hand, leaned back and chuckled. “Now you do sound like my John. All those years in the wild, living off the land, and you wouldn’t recognize rosemary if you stepped on it… after two lifetimes.”

Brae hesitantly picked up his fork and poked at his chicken, frowning while he did so. “You want me to be your, your cook is that it? Because if that’s what you want you could just tell me, so I know why I’m reading all that.”

“Mmm, what I want is for you to learn and understand the natural world we live in.”

“We’re in the middle of industry here. I can’t walk outside and find anything but a weed.” Brae grumbled softly but he ate some chicken and then a little rice.

There it was, that hint of resistance, the flicker of defiance. Dutch didn’t want to squash that inclination for rejection, but he wanted to understand it. Brae shifted from desperate needs of approval and despair to hints of subtle anger without indicating a clear reason for it. It… worried him on some level. Even if the responses could be attributed to juvenile behavior Brae was not, in fact, a juvenile. “You need vision son. We will not stay in this place forever. This is not the end but the means to something far greater.”

Brae met his gaze again “… We?” And there a light flickered, a hint of hope.

“Yes. We. You are part of a greater plan.”

Brae chewed his meal and hesitantly glanced around as if he wanted to be certain Dutch didn’t mean to address someone else. “I am?”

Dutch nodded and began to eat himself. “You are now. Trust me. It will be better than you can even imagine.”

“But you don’t want to tell me what the plan is.” Brae didn’t ask a question, and Dutch had no intention of answering even if he did. “Could I go to the warehouse and just, just watch?”

“No.” This time Dutch realized his rejection sounded harder and more like a rebuke than it was even before he saw Brae wince at the response. With a heavy sigh Dutch continued. “Your presence there might… complicate things; I’m not ready for that. If you’re itching to get out, don’t worry. You’re well past due for a haircut, and I know the perfect place.”

Brae’s shoulders sagged and rolled towards the table as if the man thought he might be able to disappear within himself. “But you’ll, you’ll be seen with me.”

“THAT is NOT the reason I don’t want you around the warehouse.” Dutch stood, walked around the table and gently placed a hand on Braeden’s shoulder. After a slight hesitation in trying to decide if he was helping or manipulating with his next move, the older man gently ran his fingers along the nape of the other’s neck and watched the predictable reaction of Brae relaxing and trying lean back slightly for more contact. “I am NOT ashamed to be seen with you.” Dutch assured softly. “Why don’t you finish eating and climb into bed when you’re done? I’ll take a shower and join you then we’ll read from one the new books to help get you started.”

“Okay.” The other man replied softly, and the minute disagreement simply ended.

Dutch took his time in the shower although relaxing it was not. He ran through his recent interactions with Brae, trying to puzzle out what he might’ve done differently to achieve better results. It was not a perfect exchange, and not because Braeden reacted as most predictably expected. No, Dutch had only few opportunities to build up the man, to project patience, and he only partially succeeded. He needed, needed to do better, so those who had reason to distrust him could see quickly how much he’d changed. These thoughts lingered as he exited the shower and re-entered the main room while drying his hair just in time to see Braeden pull on his nightshirt only, only he caught a glimpse of the man’s back this time. “Braeden, wait a moment.” Dutch set the towel down on the counter and approached the other man who turned and looked at him with an open sense of dread waiting for his next order. Right. Dutch internalized an inner debate about the next inquiry and decided knowing was better than encouraging Braeden to know he could, in fact, decline the request. “Can you remove your shirt for me and turn around again?”

Braeden’s hand shook slightly, and the other man’s entire body stiffened. Of course he complied, grabbing the end of his shirt and lifting the soft fabric until it dangled from his hand which allowed Dutch to see his back again. Along the left shoulder blade were a series of round scars, almost perfectly spherical. Dutch had seen enough marks like these in the old days and a few in the modern era to recognize them for what they were, and horrific pain they would instill upon the person who received them from someone who smoked. Carefully he placed a palm along Braeden’s back to steady his companion, and the other he used to trace the handful of scars. As he did so, he noticed how the other’s body began to fill in, the strong muscles taking shape and the muscular build he remember from a lifetime ago reemerging. “Colm made these?”

“No Sir.”

Dutch lifted his eyes from the scars, noting the reverting behavior of sir as well as the barely above whispered reply. He stepped in closer and gently ran a hand along Brae’s shoulder. “Braeden, Brae, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Will you tell me who did this to you? If it wasn’t your brother, was it a cousin or maybe done while you were in prison?”

“Mom when she was, was drunk and mad, a lot of… of both actually.”

“You can put your shirt back on if you like son.” Dutch replied after pause.

“If I want to, to keep it off?”

Dutch rose his brow slightly. It didn’t occur to him that Braeden might prefer to sleep without a shirt on, and he realized he should’ve asked. “You can sleep without out it if you want.”

Braeden stepped away and climbed into bed, leaving his shirt off. Dutch joined him a moment later after grabbing the book that had pictures and described various herbs and plant life found natively in America. He began reading the introduction which talked about the prevalence of importing plants for decorative and practical purposes and how throughout the book the author intended to point out flora that was not native but found plentiful now with an intention of remaining focused on what grew in various parts of the country natively. He glanced to the side to see Braeden’s eyes unfocused but at least pointed in the correct direction. “Do you want to do something other than reading, maybe practice writing?”

“I can write.” Braeden pointed out quietly.

“Your penmanship suggests you may very well scratch coherently but certainly not write.”

Braeden shook his head. “I’ll, I’ll practice tomorrow.” He paused. “She weren’t, weren’t all bad. It, well that didn’t happen often.”

Dutch lowered the book. “You want to talk about it?”

Although Dutch didn’t receive an answer, Braeden continued. “Just when she was drunk and mad. Colm got the worst of it.”

“His back looks worse than yours?”

Brae blinked, shook his head and those fine eyes focused again, this time on Dutch. “Not from mom, he got it from dad instead. He… he made sure he got the worst of it, always took the beating from me. He’d always been clever like that, knew just how to push the right buttons to make sure I wasn’t hurt too bad.”

“And they died?” Dutch inquired cautiously.

“Got real sick and were gone within a year of each other. I don’t remember what they said it was, something inside them I think. This time though they found a cousin to come take care of us, but he weren’t nice, real bad. We left not long after that. Colm took care of me, kept me in school for a while. I weren’t smart enough to stay in school though.”

“I wasn’t smart enough.” Dutch corrected ever so slightly. “Who told you you shouldn’t be in school?”

Braeden smiled sadly. “Colm. It was before we were stealing and stuff. I think, I think he got fired from the gas station he was working at because he took me from campus, had a bunch of cash on him, said it was a waste of time for me to stay in school with grades like I was getting and then we left. After that it was, it was like before.”

Dutch studied Braeden even though his companion wasn’t looking at him anymore. He still recognized that whimsical expression, a fond memory even during hard times. “Do you remember what subjects you were failing in?”

“You mean which ones I got F’s in?”

“Yes son, those.”

“Oh none of them.”

Dutch raised his brow slightly. “He told you shouldn’t be in school, but you passed all your classes.”

“I don’t know about passing or anything. I was getting C’s mostly, not the A’s and B’s you’re supposed to get. I think I got one of them the last time I was in school. I wasn’t ever going to be top of my class or anything, and we had to keep moving. I think he robbed the place.”

“Obviously.” Dutch responded without much thought to that particular detail because he wanted to focus on the other one. “Brae, even if you were failing in school, that is not an indication of your intelligence, and you were not even failing.”

Braeden frowned. “But I never… no one ever said I was doing good at anything.”

Dutch sighed heavily. “Our society has decided that average is not good enough. Even when a student is doing WELL enough, we punish them for the mediocrity which is often just a symptom of our poor and inadequate institutions as well as their inability to achieve anything beyond a rudimentary talent to mark specific tests and determine aptitude based on nothing but what some soulless committee deemed to be important. And in the end they do not want the extraordinary to join the masses in their workforce else they actually face demands for more resources for which they can quite easily afford to provide from those would not settle for what is given since they do, in fact, know better.”

Green eyes blinked at him. “I… I don’t understand.”

“You are not stupid Son.” Dutch simplified as best as he knew how. “And I do NOT want to hear you refer to yourself as not smart again.”

“But I don’t have an education.”

“Yet somehow you are managing to read these books. No, no what you have is a gap in your knowledge base, and this is something I am well equipped to handle. No doubt you will not be the only one to require some assistance and that, that is part of the plan.”

Braeden didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t have to be. Dutch suspected when the time came there would be a number of opportunities to assist his family with their educational needs. Once the word O’Driscoll became far less a deterrent than it was now, he would fit right in with the rest of them. “So how long after you were pulled from school did your brother begin abusing you?”

“Colm, Colm didn’t abuse me. He was always gentle with me, and he, and if I hadn’t asked him for something different I’d be still there doing what he does. I just…” Braeden shifted uncomfortably and his arm snaked around one of the fluffy pillows Dutch easily decided was his from here on out.

Dutch put the book on the nightstand giving up entirely for tonight, so he could focus fully on the other man in the bed with him and the new of goal of just trying to understand what made Brae who he was today. “Was it in prison then? Son your response to that closet...”

Braeden glanced over his shoulder towards the closet, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I weren’t… wasn’t like this in prison. No one, no one bothered me in there after I hurt a guy and the ones that came with him to mess with me.”

Dutch placed a hand on Braeden’s shoulder and spoke firmly and steadily. “Tell me what happened Braeden. I want to help you, but I don’t understand, and I think you want me to. Don’t you?”

This time the green eyes met his willingly enough, but they shifted from surprise to worry to sorrow within moments. “He didn’t write me, never sent any letters, didn’t make any calls or, or send any care packages. I was as alone as I ever remember.” Brae laid his head back against his pillow. “But I wasn’t like I am now. I was strong then, able, even got stronger inside. When I got out, there wasn’t… well I didn’t have any money, and no one came to get me, so I walked home.”

This time when the green eyes dropped Dutch reach over and gently ran his thumb along Brae’s chin and used his palm to lift his chin hoping to gain focus of his eyes again. When he succeeded, he spoke in the same firm and confident voice most attributed to him, then and now. “That was his failing, not yours.” Dutch attempted to retrieve his hand but Brae caught his wrist and used a surprising amount of strength to hold it there.

“In just a few years the house had begun to fall apart.” Braeden explained quietly. “Paint started peeling of the siding, the front door was busted, and I found broken glass all over the yard. There were so many people inside too, and in my room; I didn’t recognize any of them. I went to the back of the house, found a quiet corner and set my bag down, sat down and didn’t know what else to do. I must’ve fallen asleep. When I woke up my bag was gone and someone was asking me why I was there. I tried telling him that this was Colm’s home, my brother, and he threatened me, but by the time I got up to fight him Colm showed up, told him to scram. Colm took me to his room, fed me a meal, and he asked me if I still wanted something different. I asked him if maybe he wanted a home where we could just have quiet evenings, nice things that didn’t get broken, not so many people around we didn’t know, and just hoping we might grow old one day, be a family, a real one.”

Brae’s eyes lowered, and Dutch released his chin. “He was gentle with me that night, said it would be quiet in there, so I could rest. When I woke-up he was gone and a man came in and said he was sent by Colm for his reward…” Brae closed his moistening eyes. “There were more after that, and I don’t know why I let them. I just, I guess I kept hoping… Later I found out I wasn’t allowed to leave, and I was put in another room, a really small one with almost no light in it and no window, and then a couple of years after that I left and started coming here because a couple of guys inside said you tried to help them, but they weren’t ready for a change. They said you helped ex-cons sometimes, like them, and some got to stay and work for you. They said you gave others a new start, a new life.”

“Do you remember who said that?” Dutch kept his voice steady, not allowing his emotions to get the better of him, not yet.

“Davey and Mac. They were a couple of brothers that managed to earn their way into sharing a cell near me. They weren’t real nice guys, but we got along okay.”

Dutch smiled briefly. The brothers had come here, hardened as ever, violent and ignorant. He gave them jobs, helped them enroll in a local college to get their GEDs, but in the end they weren’t ready for any of it and left before they brought trouble to his business. “I’m glad to hear they’re okay.”

“They were.” Braeden confirmed. “But with a lotta years between them.”

“Well when they come out, they WILL have a place to come to.” Dutch paused and then gently stroked Braeden’s hair. “Tomorrow we’re going to get you a nice haircut, any length you want, and then we’ll go out for dinner. How does that sound?”

Even though Braeden relaxed considerably and sounded even tired he replied with some amount of hesitation. “You still want to be, to be seen with me after I said all that?”

“I think.” Dutch began sensibly. “That you have a lot to say, a lot of talking and maybe some writing to be done, and this is a good start; we’ll talk more about this later. You’ve been cooped up in this place for too long, so going out will be a nice change of pace, and you’re a fine man to share company with Braeden O’Driscoll. I enjoy having you at my table, and there isn’t much you can say to me that will change that.” He leaned down slightly. “Your brother on the other hand is a piece of shit.”

Braeden sniffed and laughed softly. “Yeah, yeah it seems like he is.” He paused. “Did he, did he ever recover my body in the end, I mean before? Do you know if he buried me at all or if… Or if…?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” Dutch admitted easily even though the realization of what Braeden asked stunned him just a little. He never even thought about a burial for someone like an O’Driscoll boy.

“I’m hoping, hoping someone might bury me this time, notice I’m gone because they missed me. I just… maybe one day I can have that.”

“Get some rest son.”

Once Braeden managed to fall asleep absent their intended light reading, Dutch gave attention to his laptop again and sighed inwardly at the lack of a reply to his earlier message, still. He took heart and drafted another.

_Dear Friend,_

_It has only been a few days I know, and once again I am reaching out to you ahead of schedule without the benefit of being able to tell you that our situation, the matter of great importance, has changed. It is the new matter, the same individual I wrote about before that has spurred me to keep you informed. Braeden O’Driscoll has given news about Davey and Mac Callander, imprisoned together, but encountered by him but a few years ago with a number of years left between them. It is as we expected with those two, that their violent and volatile natures led them to trouble but fortunately not an early death. I will draw out more information from Braeden as to their whereabouts which will allow us the opportunity to reach out to the boys and perhaps make their stay more comfortable._

_As for Braeden himself…_

_I fear Colm O’Driscoll has caused a most grievous disservice to his younger brother. He may have introduced him to…_

Dutch paused not entirely certain how to describe the scenario properly to his distant partner.

_Braeden is not fully aware of what proper relationships should be like, physical or emotional. His motivation is focused on avoiding a repeat of the past without fully knowing what the alternative looks like. He is so enamored by Colm, even now, that even after his harm most likely directed or even enforced by Colm himself, he does not call these events abuse by his brother._

_I… care for this young lost soul, and he trusts me far sooner than he should but has little choice in the matter as there is no one else. Of those of whom we have spoken about, this is the most fragile soul in our midst._

_Yours Truly,_

_Dutch_

Not knowing what else to say, Dutch simply sent that message, frowning at his screen and so lost in thought that he nearly missed a returned e-mail a couple minutes later.

_Are you asking my permission?_

Dutch felt his heart leap into his throat as he stared at the words with the realization the other read his message immediately and responded accordingly creating what was perhaps the closest to a live conversation they’d had in a few years now.

_Do I need it?_

He hit send.

_You know you don’t, but you are still asking… Dutch be careful with him, and please keep me apprised of the situation, this one as well as the others. Good night._

Dutch closed his laptop and glanced at the sleeping man beside him. He felt, well he felt uncertain and hopeful but most of all motivated. This was as good indication as any other that finally, finally he had someone who felt as certain as he did that they were meant to find each other, and what better reason to find one another again than to try again?

“Good news.” He whispered softly despite knowing Braeden wouldn’t hear him. “You’ve got two looking out for you now. I figure you’ll have more than just one man at a very distant funeral Brae.” He turned the light off and laid down himself, peering at the other sleeping man in the dark. Had he really been asking for permission?


	14. Chapter 14 – The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Arthur both seem to have a plan for the day, and Kieran gets to take part in one of those.

Kieran rubbed his eyes and yawned while he sat in an old beige chair in a large waiting room with more than a few other people. He felt pretty confident about walking around in his new slacks and shirt even though he could tell they were a little out of style. For one, they fit and remained the nicest and cleanest outfit he’d been able to wear in a long time, and two, nice men gave it to him. Despite what others often claimed, Kieran tried not to be too dense or easy to take advantage of. He understood Arthur just sort of showed up unexpectedly with a stranger that night he took him home with him, when Kieran also met John, as naked as the other man was born. Even with open and voiced concerns, John just seemed to go along with it, mostly. If someone asked Kieran what he thought about the two, he’d probably describe their minor bickering and the way Arthur handled John as like they were brothers, except they were actually lovers. Maybe he didn’t know what it meant to be close to someone like they were, but that relationship seemed complex and hard except, well, they acted so warm with each other too. With the way Arthur spoke softly to John at times, big hands gentle when the younger man needed it and the breakfast routine just spoke volumes about their comfort and need for one another. And John, Kieran caught a glimpse of the misery that man held inside him, and John held it there to keep Arthur from worrying about him.

While a part of Kieran really wanted to dig into what brought the two of them together, especially with John not believing what Arthur and he believed, the other part of him was afraid. Arthur warned him, and warned him pretty firm not to bring up that topic with John. A few nights in a warm bed and getting to be around someone whose mere presence and touch sent away those nightmares away, it just, well Kieran remained beyond grateful. He didn’t want to risk all that, especially when he thought John only tolerated him, at best. Kieran tried to be useful, stay out of their way, but sometimes, he couldn’t really understand what the other man didn’t like about him, so he could just fix it. Cautiously Kieran glanced at his companion now.

John leaned his head back and pressed dark straggly hair against the ash brown colored wall and pretty much growled. “God I hate this shit.”

When Kieran woke up this morning, Arthur and John had already taken their showers and ate breakfast. Neither of them minded Kieran having a slow start though. Heck, Arthur even smiled and made breakfast fresh for him as soon as he entered the kitchen. It turned out that Arthur had a day off which put both of them in early good moods. Well good moods until John tried to discreetly contact his boss about additional hours and was turned down; Kieran heard part of the call and the disappointment while eating his eggs. With all of them having their day off Kieran really thought they might talk a bit or go do something together except it seemed Arthur had plans and left not long after that. For someone who worked so late, Arthur enjoyed an earlier start, didn’t think twice about sleeping in. Kieran didn’t get to think about that too long though because John emerged from their room suddenly dressed in black jeans, a full button-up white shirt and practically grabbed Kieran, dragged him out the door by his arm and said they had to go. Kieran assumed they’d be going to the library which he didn’t mind, even if John was just going to drop him off. Instead they wound up here, in some sort of community based center where John filled out paperwork and took a number, waiting his turn. Kieran didn’t hide his confusion until he saw one small family finally leave with two full bags of food.

“So if you didn’t want to do it, how come we came here?” Kieran knew immediately he managed to say the wrong thing again because John just sort of glowered at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“If we didn’t come Arthur would. Arthur doesn’t like being cooped up inside when he doesn’t have to be, especially if he isn’t put to work doing anything, and that’s not fair to him anyway. He’s doing all the hard labor to keep us in that place so, you know, we gotta do something to help him.”

“Help him?” Kieran asked cautiously and winced when his companion sighed in continued annoyance.

“He works long hours, overtime when he can get it, and he’s not eating enough. I don’t know if he said anything to you or not but don’t listen to him Kieran. Arthur’s the kind of man that wouldn’t say anything, just continue as he is and start tightening his belt. We gotta get us some more, just have to.” John finished his explanation looking miserable and disappointed. 

“You should just tell him.” Kieran whispered.

John threw Kieran a questioning look but did not follow it up with a question.

“Just tell him your boss isn’t nice to you, and you want to quit.” Kieran explained cautiously.

“You don’t know if he isn’t nice to me, and you can’t just quit a job because you don’t like it. We have to find a way to live, and this is it.”

Kieran rubbed his hands gently together. Sometimes his skin just seemed to itch because it was dry, but drinking as much clean water as he was drinking and eating better too seemed to help. “Well I didn’t say you should quit. I just thought that maybe talking about it might help.”

John snorted briefly. “I’m sure Arthur already knows I want to quit. I’ve never had a job I didn’t want to quit.”

“But he doesn’t know about the other thing right?”

The brunette eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay.” Kieran let it drop because he didn’t want to get kicked out by getting into a fight with his most disagreeable roommate. He just, well he was sure if John just talked to Arthur about all that mess inside him John might feel better about all this, about himself too. Talking to Arthur made Kieran sure feel better, and they’d only talked a little since they met.

Both of them watched some toddler in his blue and footed jumper stumble in front of them and hit the floor. Instead of crying the little boy blinked in surprise, giggled and began walking some more under the watchful eyes of what looked like a grandmother nearby. 

“So what were you doing out there?”

Kieran hesitantly returned his gaze to his irritated companion except John didn’t seem that cross anymore. “What?”

“That alley where he says you were mugged. What were you doing out there? I just, I’m not going throw you out or anything like that. Arthur’s claimed you as, well, family or something, and once that happens there’s really no going back. I just want to know if we should be careful with you around town or anything, like if you’re hiding from someone.” John took a breath as if he was prepared for the worst.

It took a moment though for Kieran to process what the other man was asking. “You mean like drugs or something?”

The snort and the open appraisal told Kieran he was way off base. “You? A drug dealer?” John laughed again. “You look too clean to be a junkie, at least not unless you just started. I was thinking more along the lines of… on your knees work.”

“On my knees work…” Kieran puzzled that for a minute and then his eyes widened in realization and instant horror. “What? No!”

“Shh, keep it down.” John muttered. “We don’t have to advertise to the entire world what we’re taking about.”

“Well if you wanted to grill me you could’ve done it at home or waited until we got home.” Kieran tried to keep his voice level, but he heard himself rise an octave, maybe two.

John gave a brief nod. “Yeah, well I was going to, but I’m bored and this could take a long time. So you’re saying…”

“No, no John.” Kieran actually snipped at him just a bit. “I, I was kicked out of the place I was staying, and I had nowhere to go. Those, those guys thought I was… well I guess they thought what you thought. When I said no they beat me up and took my last twenty dollars. Arthur came; that was that.”

“Twenty dollars? That all you have to your name?” John asked hesitantly.

“Had. I don’t have some hidden accounts or a car stashed somewhere if that’s what you’re asking.” Kieran felt a pit form in his stomach. He’d told Arthur he was so alone in this world when the emotions of reliving that nightmare, that past, gripped him so hard, but Kieran wasn’t sure he meant to admit it, even then.

John gave a nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t, didn’t mean it like that.”

Awkward silence fell between them, and it just sort of hung there like an unwanted ghost for a bit until Kieran spoke again. “If you didn’t want to wait in line for all this, you could’ve just sent me. I would do it John; I really would. I don’t mind waiting so much, and if it helps I would be happy to do it.” He gave the other man his most earnest expression, hoping, praying really John might actually believe him and also get them off that other topic.

John breathed in deeply and glanced away. “I think that’s what Arthur sees in you. Maybe he’s right; maybe you’re telling the truth. The thing is I have an account with them. I went through their process a while ago, for me and my ex, so we could get some help for all of us. It’s been a little bit, but I’m hoping the nice lady that helped us before will, well I don’t know if they’ll let me use her again, but if she owns my account she might help us more.”

“You and Arthur came here before?”

“No.” John nervously tapped the arm of the chair. “No. He wouldn’t come in then. Not being able to find good work really tore at him, ate his pride and everything when we came to this city. It was so hard, a lot harder than we thought. Everyone said the cities had the jobs, but I guess they want better people than us. Then he got that job at the warehouse, and we’ve been mostly okay ever since.”

“Then I showed up.” Kieran replied unhappily as he started to understand John’s resentment against him.

“No. No.” John sat-up and turned to face him, his eyes vibrant and steady. “No. No that’s not on you. We were getting in trouble before you showed up Kieran. I’m not going to let you own that. With you here I’m hoping when I tell her we have three people she’ll believe me, so we can get enough for three. If not, well… It’s better than nothing.”

Kieran felt his heart lift just a bit, but their conversation became interrupted.

“Mr. Marston.”

“Hey that’s us.” John stood and went to the counter with Kieran in tow. “I’m, I’m John Marston.”

The woman was small, like enough to require a stool to reach the counter kind of little. She wore too much peach blush, had too short permed blonde hair and a pink dress that actually made her look older. “It says on your paperwork you’ve been here before?”

“Yeah…” John grabbed a pen with white flower petals glued to it hoping to distract himself while he tried to get what was needed out of his mouth. “I spoke with a, with a Susan before. She was sort of nice and patient, and I was really hoping…”

“She’s going on break. You’ll be working with me.” The woman snapped and pointed at her name tag. “Heather. And you didn’t fill out all the fields.”

“Oh Okay.” John swallowed his distress and continued. “I filled out what I know how to fill out. If you could just…”

“I need you to fill out the fields before you’re called again. Please get another number and sit back down. Next!”

John jumped slightly, took his clipboard and headed back to his seat looking discouraged and worried, but before Kieran could offer to try and help a side door opened and a woman partially stepped through it. “John, John Marston is that you?” She was tall with a firm expression, dark hair with a few notable grey streaks and stunning green eyes. She wore a simple brown dress with a tight black blazer that shifted when she gave John a brief smirk and motioned him over.

“Susan.” Kieran noticed relief wash over John immediately. His companion lifted his chin and held his clipboard up a little bit higher and approached. “I uhhh...” He stopped like he didn’t know what to say, like he wasn’t ready to repeat what he just told Heather.

Kieran swallowed nervously and stepped forward, offering a hand. “I’m Kieran, Kieran Duffy. John and I are, well we’re roommates, and I guess we need some help with our paperwork.”

“Susan, Susan Grimshaw.” Susan gave a brief nod and motioned them through the door. “Come on boys. I’ll help you out.”

John walked forward with a rising smile. “Thank you.”

They were lead to a small cubicle in a maze of more grey walled cubicles than Kieran could count. Susan had a few pictures of tall trees and a mountain beside a stack of tea boxes and a basic white cup. “I was starting to get worried about you John.” She said as they took a seat and huddled around the small desk.

“Oh, well I told you before it was a temporary thing, we’d be on our feet in no time.” John’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“Hmm.” She nodded and pulled out a file with his name on it. After thumbing through a few pages, she took out a pen and began to fill in some of the blanks. “Does your son Jack and Ms. Abigail Roberts still live with you?” 

“No. It’s just me and Arthur, and umm well Kieran here too.”

Kieran forced a smile because her hard gaze kind of unnerved him. “Recent, recent roommate.”

She looked him up and down. “And your income?”

John fished out a handful of paystubs. “This is Arthur’s. He’s mostly steady but mine is, well my hours they kind of come and go, so I have a good week in there and, and not so many good ones after. I wasn’t sure how to fill out my monthly income when it changes so much each month.”

Her eyes moved over the stubs, and she began to fill out more information on their form. “Kieran, do you work?”

“Not, not yet. But I sure hope to real soon. You see...”

“That’s fine for now.” She mumbled roughly. “Do you have ID Duffy?”

Kieran swallowed and let his eyes drop as he reached into his pocket. “Well I have, you see I have my State ID but the address...”

She took it quickly. “That’s fine.” Susan wrote a few things down, stared at his picture and then lifted her eyes to focus on him a moment. “Have you been in before? You seem… familiar.”

“No ma’am, never, never here.” He hoped this wouldn’t ruin their chances for help, and he started yanking on his shirt a little when John quickly reached over and gently squeezed his hand. 

“Kieran, it’s all right.”

“I don’t, I don’t want to ruin this for everyone.” He whispered his worry aloud, but oddly enough John just smiled.

“You won’t. Susan helped us before. She’s, well she’s hard but fair and nice.”

“And not deaf either Mr. Marston.” Susan returned Kieran’s ID and turned to the computer to type and fill out information there too. “We’re not a state agency gentleman, so we have a little more leeway with the donations we receive as well as grants. I know from the way some of my colleagues run the place you’d think we are. It’s just, we’ve had some individuals come here a few times, to take advantage. Heather is a fool since last Tuesday if she takes a look at you two and think you’re running some sort of drug ring. It seems just as likely a challenge this morning that either of you tied your shoes properly or managed to find our address. Wait here.” She locked her computer and cabinet and walked away and mumbled something about them worrying too damn much about not helping people that they’d forgotten how to help people.

“Hard.” Kieran repeated.

John snorted. “Yeah but you’ll see.”

He took as much assurance as he could from John’s enthusiasm even though he didn’t understand it. The woman acted like she intended to help them, even took their papers and worked through her break, but the way she addressed him sounded anything but helpful. Fortunately, Kieran was wrong. About twenty minutes later John and Kieran exited the building with two bags of groceries and a voucher to return next month for more. John even promised to come back next month to check in even if they didn’t need the bags.

Excitedly Kieran joined John on the bus and dug through their bounty. “Eggs, bread… cheese. John, we even got some ground beef and spinach. Do you like meatloaf? Does Arthur? Oh we have spaghetti noodles and some canned tomatoes too, even spices. Hey do you like spaghetti and meatballs?”

John leaned back in his chair and gave Kieran a weak smile. “Yeah, yeah spaghetti sounds fine, real fine.”

Kieran nodded and settled down some when he noticed John just staring out the window wearing that crushed look again. Maybe he couldn’t make everything better, not even most things, or get them money or have John talk to Arthur anytime soon, but he’d make them the best spaghetti he could with what he got and use the big baggies to freeze it for next week too. The little jar of dried basil he found left him smiling all the way home, as did the fact that Kieran began to think he really did have a reason to even call it home.


	15. Chapter 15 – Just a Little Bit More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is holding his family together, working everyday with overtime, just to make ends meet. He knows they need a little bit more though, and when has he ever been one to disappoint?

Arthur stood outside the plain black metal door leading into an old brick building with no real signs indicating what it was, just numbers to help deliveries attached to the outer walls. The neighborhood seemed tired but not rundown, not dangerous, with a convenience store down the street, a paid parking lot leading to the back of some buildings that indicated one sold or made audio equipment and maybe a homegrown factory of some kind, and of course parking meters lined the street. After an additional delay, Arthur grabbed the heavy doorknob and entered, almost disappointed it wasn’t just locked. He didn’t think an old suit or tie was appropriate for this sort of, well whatever it was, so he wore black jeans and a buttoned-down smoky grey shirt with small white stripes hoping to make a good impression.

Inside he found a far more modern looking set-up than expected, with a sleek dark stone floor, brushed chrome light fixtures and small but expensive chairs lined up by an industrial style desk with old plumber pipes and dark stained wood to give it a modern appearance. A young woman with too red hair, polished and even oddly snowy skin, and dark blue rectangular eyeglasses lifted her gaze from a notebook and fixated it directly on him. “Can I help you?”

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan.” He took a breath and walked forward, offering a hand that she didn’t take, but Arthur didn’t let that dissuade him. He let his hand drop. “I was, was given a card…” He felt his planned explanation sort of slip away when her eyes left him, looking to a calendar on her right that showed an empty square for today, and then she looked at her phone. 

“I don’t see you have an appointment Mr. Morgan.”

“I, well I don’t. Like I said I was given a card by a woman at a bar. It’s been a little while, but I was hoping to get some information. She said…”

“Card you say?” She lowered her glasses slightly and peered over them. “That was probably Kelly. She had a… habit of recruiting off the street. I’m afraid she’s not with us anymore Mr. Morgan. She might’ve given the impression that we’d take just anyone, but I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.”

Argon felt heat try to rise along his neck, cheeks and ears, but he successfully squashed that instant reaction. Even while driving here he convinced himself that this was a longshot, long of all the longs, that a company would even be interested in someone like him. “I understand. Thank you Ma’am.” He turned and returned the way he came hearing the phone ring as he reached the door.

“Mr. Morgan!” The woman called out to him.

He turned towards her cautiously curious about her frantic voice.

“It, well it seems we might have something for you after all.”

Arthur hesitantly walked back in her direction, not ready to be low-balled or subtly insulted again. He knew how the world worked, and he figured out better patience this time around… but only to a certain degree. “She said I could get a thous…”

“We’ll give you fifteen hundred for the first session.”

That was, was too tempting. “What would I have to do?”

She pushed her glasses back-up and pulled out some paperwork. “You’ll have to sign a number of disclosures stating you understand your rights, our rights to the material we’re going to create, and…”

“What would I have to do?” Arthur interrupted her this time and kept his voice firm about it, making certain she understood there would be nothing happening unless she explained that part better.

The young woman leaned back, straightened her navy blue blouse, allowing just a hint of a white shirt and the black lace of her bra to show and uncrossed her legs. Finally she gave Arthur her full attention. “It’s your first time with us Mr. Morgan, so no one will touch you. It will just be you, a single camera person and someone to direct your actions nearby. The lights will be brighter than most are used to to get good shoots, but you would just enjoy yourself in front of the camera. My boss likes to start things slow, give his audience a taste of what is to come instead of the full meal at once.”

Enjoy yourself? Arthur huffed, and the old Arthur would’ve sneered too, tipped his hat and made some crude remark about how careful she was being at not just saying what this was all about. Fifteen hundred dollars. That’d be more than enough to get Jack’s initial payments in order, ensure this month’s rent and next, hell he might even get to avoid going to beg for food someplace, but a part of him just, well he thought about what Charles said. Would he hate himself for this? “I’ll think about it. Thank you Miss.” 

She stood. “Two thousand Mr. Morgan. You sign those papers, do what you’re told for a little bit of your time, and you walk out of here with two thousand dollars… cash.”

Arthur killed people for a lot less money a long time ago, and what was this, harmless pictures and videos? It’s not as if he had a reputation to even lose. “Deal.” Only after he took a seat and filled out the papers she wanted him to sign, reading everything, and returned them to follow her to the back rooms did he notice a discreet camera just behind the desk.

She led him down a number of hallways, pausing near a few numerically marked doors. “We have a number of sets to choose from. The suggestion is a couch, a living room area but there are other…”

“That’s fine.” Arthur replied roughly. He wanted this over with and had no intention of picking out a movie set like he were picking out drapes and not selling himself like he was. “Is there a place where I go to get ready or…”

She motioned towards the third door. “We specialize in quality amateur content. This means we don’t typically use a lot of seasoned actors but we do have experienced camera operators and editors which allow us…”

Arthur moved in a little closer so he could lean down and put an end to this silliness. “Miss. You didn’t offer your name even when I gave you mine. I appreciate your explanations, but if it is all the same to you, I’d prefer the abridged version. If you’re saying I just go in there, make myself comfortable, wait for your camera person and some other to come in there and tell me what to do, fine. Just get on with it, please.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part, that plea. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to settle himself and to focus. By the time he opened his eyes again she was smiling, not a sympathetic or even callous expression, but something else entirely, something he couldn’t place.

“Oh he’s right. They’re going to love you. Please go inside that room and try to get comfortable. I promise you we clean every set thoroughly, so just try to relax. It will take a little bit to get the equipment set-up. Since this wasn’t on the calendar, they’re just not ready. In the future…”

“Just the one time.” She paused, and they exchanged a steady gaze as Arthur continued. “I mean I’m only doing this this one time.”

Another smile formed, but she nodded at least. “Of course, of course Mr. Morgan. I’ll return shortly with some water if you like some.”

Arthur waited for her to create some distance between them before he entered the set, stepping through the door to see a rather elegant and curved peacock blue sofa which reminded him a little of a music note. It was on a wooden floor, or at least part of a floor, and in front of a partial white wall with paintings that he imagined were meant to match the aesthetic of the couch, metallic shapes or something. There were tall lights and what looked like small microphones on tripods or dangling opposite of the two partial walls and the ceiling also had additional spotlights lights too, the only set currently on. He had no idea how she expected him to get comfortable on this set preparing to do what he was about to do.

Hesitantly he made his way to the strange couch and took a seat, resting his arms on his knees while trying to calm the queasiness threatening to sour his stomach. He tried to find a spot on the floor to focus on but instead wound up closing his eyes, breathing in and out calmly, steadying his mind with an inner voice that reminded him, it was just this one time. He murdered people, long ago, innocent individuals, bystanders, lawmen and hell even some horses all in an effort to do what exactly, live free? And now here he was just doing the right thing to get by, to get them all a little breathing room. Lord help him, how would he manage facing John or even Kieran tonight when he got home?

“Mr. Morgan.”

An unfamiliar man’s voice drew his attention although several lights turned on obscuring his view. He shield his eyes for a moment before giving up and just became content with seeing the silhouettes of two individuals now, one behind a camera. “You were offered water.” He continued. “We can offer you something a little stronger and maybe some music to help you relax as we continue to set-up, before we get started.”

“Don’t, don’t need anything strong.” Arthur murmured.

“What can we do to help you relax, to perform Mr. Morgan?”

John. Arthur wanted to say John. He needed John to remind him what it felt like to have someone confident in his ability to do anything, for his lips to brush against Arthur’s neck and shoulder in a way that made his heart sing followed by that silly and overeager smile of his or a whisper of something sweet enough to rot a tooth. Instead he was in a room that was too large with too many bright lights, an unwanted audience and was that plastic or maybe paper near the walls and on the floor he missed? For easier clean-up, for…

“Mr. Morgan?”

“Just give me a minute.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Should I have my clothes on or off?”

“We find amateurs tend to fumble around a lot with removing their clothing, something not nearly as appealing on camera as you might think. If you’re not comfortable being completely naked, I suggest an open shirt, no undershirt, and your jeans low enough so we can see your penis and balls.”

Arthur blinked in the man’s direction, still not really able to see more than just the outline of the person while deciding right then and there he wasn’t real fond of this talking bit. “And you’re going to tell me what to do like you are, are now?”

The man walked into the light revealing someone who was well past their middle-age with a receding hairline despite a desperate comb-over, a pudgy face but the brown eyes didn’t seem nearly as unkind or judgmental as Arthur first imagined. He wore a simple moss green shirt with blue washed-out jeans and handed something small to him which turned out to be a skin colored earpiece. “These prove more useful especially when things get… active.”

He quickly grabbed the earpiece and worked his shirt off so he could remove the undershirt, but once he had the undershirt off decided he might as well, well this was a porno so might as well just go shirtless. Even though he sometimes felt too thick, John assured him arms were too abundant for some shirts due to muscles, and his broad shoulders, notable pec muscles and firm but wide abdomen were not signs of indulgence so much as man with just some girth. Most the time Arthur didn’t feel so self-conscious, but he didn’t seek or actually sleep with that many people. And when he did he tried to make up for the fact he had some hair across his chest, down his belly and his arms which didn’t fit those chiseled fellows in the magazines or movies much. Arthur closed his eyes briefly and began to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait.”

A voice rang in Arthur’s left ear although he didn’t really remember inserting the earpiece.

“That’s pretty good.” It continued. “Close those and do it again in a few minutes. We’ll start there.”

“Okay.”

And suddenly all of this felt real. 

Arthur was about to star in some silly throwaway jerk fest for a measly but also precious two thousand dollars which was the exact opposite thing he needed to think about in order to get hard. “I need, well I should’ve have brought it but I need some, you know…”

“Lube. Hold on. We’re almost set-up. I’ll get it for you, unopened and everything.” The man assured and then hurried out of the room.

The waiting proved worse. Arthur took a few deep breaths, trying to mimic what his first real girlfriend taught him years ago shortly after he was released from jail for assaulting a man who just let his tongue wag a little too long on particularly bad day, and yes Arthur been drunk, drinking his pain away or so he thought. It turned out jail now wasn’t nearly as bad as it been then, and a lot of the fellows in there weren’t even waiting for a noose. He pictured John waiting in there for some petty theft, some stupid crime that wasn’t even worth the risk because it relaxed him a little, knowing John was kind of the same even if he were different now and that he loved the younger man for it. Not the man he’d been but the one relying on him now in ways he’d have fought like spitfire to avoid a lifetime ago… even if they both knew Arthur did all he could to keep them going back then. Like he was doing now, like he would always do.

By the time the other man returned with the lube and a bottle of water, Arthur looked him in the eye and just grabbed the lube, quickly warming a bit of it up with fingers and a thick palm. “You almost ready. I’m only going to do this once.” Arthur grumbled without thinking about it really, just staring at the slickened nature of his fingers.

“Yeah just lean back a bit, spread your legs… try and move slower than you’re used to.”

While trying to adjust on the couch, shifted his left thigh to slightly rest above his right and doing his best to ignore the lights and the two pairs of eyes on him now, Arthur remembered the one Valentine’s day he tried to play along with one of John’s silly fantasies, tried to seduce him, or dance or… something. It was awkward, clumsy, left his face redder than a polished crab apple and ultimately he wound up sighing and just asking John if they could get on with it, if he really had to keep trying with all this rose in his mouth stuff. John laughed, kissed him, and said sex was always just fine with him even though he felt indiscernibly happy Arthur gone and tried all this extra. Those warm eyes, that goofy smile and the kiss, long and drawn out, sweet and tantalizing… Arthur focused on that moment, tried to get lost in that past to allow his heart and body to warm enough to continue. John never needed any convincing or even prep time really, so he was a little out of practice. And this…

“Once you get going, don’t forget to open your eyes. We’re going to want to capture those baby blues.”

The man’s voice threw him out of the moment, and Arthur opened his eyes for a moment mostly out of confusion than any real attempt to obey. The bright lights blinded him again, and he heard someone whisper something, not the man with the earpiece but someone next to him.

“Very nice.”

That was directed at him, Arthur realized although he tried not to linger on what they might be talking about so he could just fist his hand around his hardening cock, run his thumb over the weeping slit and just turn and pump and turn and…

“At the camera, try to focus on me once in a while, just our silhouettes, no need to squint.”

Arthur paused, looked in that direction and shook his head. “I don’t, I don’t think I can…”

“Boss says its fine. They’re going to like this kind of thing, just try to coax him a little, gentle like.”

And he realized they weren’t talking directly to him again just about him. It left a pit in his stomach, and he worried he was getting soft and ruining the one shot he had to try and get something good out of today to sustain them for a while when another voice sounded, almost a whisper, kind of muffled.

“Arthur, ignore them. Listen to me. Just close your eyes, that’s fine if it helps, lean back, try to relax and don’t focus on anything except your hand on your cock, how good that feels and how much you like taking orders from someone.”

Orders? Arthur ran his tongue along the bottom of his lips. “I don’t think that I’m like that.” And then he sort of remembered that maybe he wasn’t supposed to be talking like this in a video. “Sorry I just, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Don’t worry about talking to me. We can edit that out.” The man continued like he hadn’t heard anything Arthur just said. “Lean back, press your head against that cushion, there you go, and just try to relax.”

A part of Arthur wanted to argue the point, get mad and maybe just walk out of here. The other part won out, the one that had him pressing his head against the firm cushion, closing his eyes while getting his stilled hand to move again. Relax, enjoy, and he could go home. Maybe he was just trying to help out, get him to do this so they wouldn’t be here too long.

“There you go, sort of pinch the tip a bit, just enough for it to hurt. You like a little pain don’t you?”

A shiver ran along Arthur’s spine. This time he just squeezed his eyes shut and… listened. His large coarse thumb traced the underbelly of his engorged cock until he brushed against the ridge of the head. Carefully, almost gently he worked his thumb over the slight raise of flesh to glide over the glans, the sensation making him hiss ever so slightly as it sent rivulets of tiny pleasure signals that dominated his mind, easily allowing for a finger to be added so by the time he got the tip it took no additional willpower to squeeze the two together, no doubt release more clear fluid and causing him to inhale deeply, sharply due to the discomfort of both the feeling but also the awareness that he was turned-on by this different approach.

“Very good Arthur.”

The familiarity felt out of place but remained something he could ground himself onto, to just get through this even if his state of arousal left him feeling just as dirty as he was grateful.

As he kept moving his hand, just finding a rhythm, just sort of clearing his mind of everything to march towards an end result, the man spoke again, clearly breathless. 

“Move your ass to the end, just a little, yeah like that, curve your hips up at an angle… perfect. They’re going to want to see those dangling juicy balls of yours, see where it’s all coming from when you release.”

Any other moment in time, Arthur would’ve either made that man eat his words or exited the situation as discreetly and quietly as possible, except as unsettling as that statement became, it warmed something deep in the core of his being as well, made him clench too tight. Arthur didn’t understand that, but it kept his blood pumping and prevented his mind from focusing, and it was within that chaos that he began to thrust into his fist, the slick sound of his cock against slippery fingers. He had to bite his lip form moaning, and unlike the times when he was with John, he didn’t want to hold back, prolong this just…

“A little wider Arthur. Spread em wide.”

Get it over with, so he did what he was told, spreading his legs, going faster, and faster, brow crunched while time felt like it stood still. Just, just a little more, he told himself, he told his body… all of him while Arthur stifled moans and gasps and tried to swallow a whimper, mostly successfully. It felt good. It felt… hot. Ultimately, it felt wrong, and then it was over.

For a few minutes Arthur lay there, sort of unable to fully process he’d done it, he found release with lights and cameras and the eyes of strangers on him. Even with a few things still tingling, he somehow managing to use hands that didn’t shake despite the shudders that continued inside him. Arthur pulled up, buttoned and zipped his jeans, retrieved and dressed in his shirt, and gathered the rest of his things so he could get the hell out of here except he needed…

“Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur took a breath and managed to look the same young woman in the eye as she began to count hundreds in front of him except she had one extra. “That’s twenty one hundred not two thousand.” 

She shrugged. “The boss thinks the footage will be good. The next time you return we might be discussing percentages. What do you think of The Cowboy for your stage name? Most folks prefer their real names to remain unknown, but if you pick up any regulars…

Arthur pocketed the money. “There won’t be a next time.” He gave her a polite nod. “It’s fine Ma’am. Thank you.” And then he hurried down the hall, around the corner and finally made it out of the building to begin the walk to the bus stop. Only once he was a good five minutes away did he think it was odd they decided to call him Cowboy. It felt strange because that’s how John sometimes saw it, his obsessions with Westerns, cowboys and the Wild West except he’d never really been a cowboy. Arthur Morgan had been a gunslinger, an outlaw, a violent and bad man. This could be some sort of penance for all those people he’d hurt or killed or harmed those years ago except someone gave him John and Jack and Abigail, hell even Charles back, folks he loved. And as silly as it sounded, especially considering how much John thought all that meant crazy and not something more, he didn’t want John or anyone else thinking he’d been some cowboy or rancher. He wanted them, really anyone to know he’d been wild, a fighter and far more uncivilized than movies and TV shows portrayed gangs like they were such people who had homes. He wanted John to remember the Arthur he’d been as well as the Arthur he’d become… and those people back there had no idea of any of it. You’re thinking too much, Arthur scolded himself.

He glanced at the bus stop sign and kept going, it’d take him an hour, maybe even two to get home because he was walking the whole damn way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one to get to come together. I was pretty happy with how it started, but the end felt a little rushed. Then I decided... that actually works for this type of scenario. I hope everyone finds at least a bit to enjoy.


	16. Chapter 16 – Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch always thinks he's ready, for the now and the future. With Braeden around though, maybe he his reflection of the past differs, and he realizes just a bit that the future isn't so certain. What is going to do with that information, well only time will tell.

Dutch leaned back in an empty black and chrome barber chair trying to concentrate on the newspaper in hand, but his dark eyes continuously moved to the right and a few chairs over where Brae fidgeted in his like chair after having a dark salon cape draped over his shoulders. Mr. Harold Olsen, an average sized man with greying hair, a trimmed mustache and beard, and a constant frown despite warm brown eyes mixed the shaving cream expertly behind his customer while trying to get Brae to talk. Despite wearing clean clothes, new shoes and new socks, his companion continued to retreat from conversation and attention like he was unworthy of even basic contact with other human beings. The problem was, there was no getting around it here. Dutch, Brae and Mr. Olsen would remain the only individuals for probably another hour or so because he arranged it that way. He wanted Brae to feel comfortable, at least for the first part of the day, as they had quite a day ahead of them. With competent employees at work, Dutch felt almost contented himself to take the entire day and let them handle everything, for a change, and just ahead of the uptick he expected too. If all went well, he might be able to add an extra working day to the calendar without having to manage it himself in addition to adding to the payroll overall. So here they were, with him trying to awkwardly read the paper, Brae doing everything he knew to do to avoid eye contact and not answer questions, and Mr. Olsen giving him a look like he was about to say something… unwelcome.

“Dutch.”

“Yes Mr. Olsen?”

Harold frowned at him, a hard frown, because Dutch knew the man thought him too formal, but there was an air here, a familiarity of a distant time that gave Dutch ease and security that he just didn’t want to let go of. Being polite to men who provided services, well it was something he intended to continue in order to keep that welcoming feeling wherever he might find it. “Do you mind stepping out for a minute?”

Dutch carefully folded his paper and approached Brae, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Brae, this man is worried about you. He IS going to ask you some questions, and you tell him WHATEVER you like. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“But…” 

Brae looked almost panicked, so Dutch paused and turned. “I promise I’ll be right out that door and WILL return when he is done, just like before when I kept my promise except I will NOT be an hour late.” He gave a brief smile and was relieved to get one in return.

Once outside Dutch reached for his breast pocket for a cigarette before remembering he quit years ago. No one smoked anymore; it was bad for you the men of science and medicine said. Sometimes Dutch wondered if in the end that might’ve gotten them all, lung cancer, had any of them lived long enough to see ripe old age. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he leaned against the old brown brick wall and closed his eyes, running his fingers inside the pockets of his black jeans while wondering if he was just an old fool to keep buying tailored shirts like the white stripped one he had on now. He just couldn’t bring himself to look sloppy, not even as he stood right now in a failing strip mall knowing the man inside questioned Brae like he was some sort of physician, like it was his responsibility to ensure Dutch didn’t bring someone abused and suffering by his hand for a haircut. It only proved his earlier intuition, that Olsen was a good man, maybe not especially business savvy, and too close to retirement but a good man just the same. Dutch could’ve coached Brae how to respond to this line of questioning he thought might come up eventually, but maybe this was important, a chance for Brae to see that other people did care, even enough to stand up against him, Dutch Van der Linde, a man whom some once thought was larger than life, a man who barely ran a small warehouse operation and waited outside to see if his barber might call the law on him.

The door opened and Olsen called to him. “You can come in now Dutch.”

He gave a nod. “Thank you Mr. Olsen.” At least when he entered Brae met his eyes when he returned to his seat. “Did we decide on a cut?”

Brae shook his head. “What, whatever you think is best.”

Their barber shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange but hopefully satisfied with the earlier inquires. Dutch really hoped he didn’t just lose the man’s service over this. “Do you like it long or short son?”

“If it’s no good…”

“You need a trim, a wash and general tending to, but there IS nothing wrong with your hair. Tell him Mr. Olsen.”

“We’ll clean it up. You’ve got plenty to work with Braeden. I just need to know how short you want it.”

Brae dropped his eyes indicating no further response would likely come.

Dutch opened his paper wide. “Shoulder length. If he doesn’t like it that long, we can always return. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the extra business.”

Olsen rolled his eyes and went to work shaving Braeden and then moving onto the air which allowed Dutch to finally focus on today’s news at least.; except he couldn’t. He remembered both his sons being particularly ornery about that exaggerated feature, especially John, but seeing it with grown men still… irked him, such a complete lack of respect. No doubt his boys adopted that expression now because both of them were so emotional during a time society demanded only hardened souls from their menfolk. He lowered the paper slightly and puzzled that a moment. That wasn’t right was it? Not emotional but… sensitive and passionate. At the thought he glanced at Braeden again, looking far too miserable in his chair while getting just a little attention, a treat really. It’d work out in the end; Dutch knew that, but he felt he shouldn’t rely on positive outcomes as a justification for ignoring someone’s strong reaction, even rejection to the current situation. “When you’re done, Braeden could use a new razor and a chance to select an aftershave.”

Brae’s eyes darted towards him immediately. “You don’t have to do that… Dutch.”

No sir this time; good. Lifting the paper again Dutch scanned the ads for keywords, for indications of others he might’ve missed. “I’m aware Braeden. A nice new razor and aftershave you prefer is a small price to pay for a little comfort in the morning. Don’t you think so?” He knew the question might throw his house guest, but he wasn’t exactly prepared for the answer. “And if you dislike this sort of attention it will delay it for a lot longer once you get a handle on it.”

“Sure if you, if you like it too.”

Eager to please? Anxious for affection? Nervous about maintaining a place to stay and eat or even live? Dutch realized that response could mean any or all these things, but at least he received a response, an acknowledgement to the question even if it only reminded him how little independence the other young man exhibited. Except… how many hundreds of miles did the other walk, days, weeks, just to find him? That decision didn’t manifest in someone completely unwilling to commit or think for himself.

The rest of the visit remained smooth and quiet, an old radio tuned to something the world today called oldies played in the background although Dutch couldn’t bring himself to even think of these tunes as… deep-rooted. These young souls surrounding him knew nothing about timeworn, nothing about the birth of the cities they took for granted now let alone the marvel of discovering music that could travel with you for the first time. He wondered if Arthur and John ever became fond of music now that they had choices, options to listen to. Dutch hoped they did, felt some measure of joy in something created with the soul of someone’s voice or the expertise of mastering an instrument. When the barber finally finished, Dutch folded his newspaper, stood and appraised a clean-shaven, tamed hair Braeden. Of course the other man didn’t look him in the eye, but the black hair shined with products and health with the ragged ends removed while the finely cut strands naturally rested around the other man’s neck. Maybe his hair was a bit thin, but that man cut hair with little fuss, and truly, with those green eyes and defined cheek bones and a proper shave even with his slight status, Braeden’s appeal began to show. “Very nice.”

Braeden gave a half-smile while Dutch opened his wallet and gave Mr. Olsen his due with a sizable tip after selecting a razor and some earthy and overpriced aftershave.

“I promise you Mr. Olsen I will take good care of this young man, don’t you worry. Come on Brae.”

“Thank you.” 

Braeden’s whisper remained almost too low to hear, but the barber grabbed his broom and replied. “You are most welcome.”

They climbed into Dutch’s truck, and he took them into the busy streets for their next appointment, on time even, to get a properly fitted shirt and blazer, stopping for some coffee on the way. Braeden declined anything to drink.

A few hours later they sat in the corner of a nice restaurant, Braeden wearing a newly fitted light periwinkle long sleeved dress shirt matched with a Prussian blue blazer and Dutch a simple black blazer with a white shirt while eating cold cucumber soup with just a hint of spice to it. 

“I don’t understand why you wanted to spend so much on me just to get into this restaurant.” Braeden again expressed worry about the simple purchase they’d made at the tailors.

“Brae, you feel good don’t you? You even looked that young doorman in the eye on our way in.”

The other man shifted uncomfortably, glancing around at the several other tables in earshot as he whispered. “A hundred dollars is a lot of money for one shirt.”

“The blazer cost more.” Dutch simply grinned and ate while Braeden openly scowled at him. “You’ll wear them again, so stop fretting over the cost of everything; it’s a treat. Haven’t you ever had just a nice day before, one where you get to enjoy yourself? Even back in the old days you must’ve had some good days?”

Braeden pushed his soup with a silver spoon and nodded. “I remember going to one of those traveling shows once, got some nuts. The trips to the whorehouse were fun, when we could manage that. Willing was usually better anyhow.”

Dutch almost choked. For once the younger man didn’t whisper, and he glanced around making sure the nearby tables didn’t pay them any mind. “Braeden, try to remember when and where we are.”

“Right. Sorry.” Braeden gave him a weak smile. “I guess I’m not really used to talking to anyone like it was real before.” The smile vanished and the other man just sort of gazed into the salad.

“Because Colm didn’t remember?”

“He didn’t remember much or…” Braeden continued to toy with his salad but ate a few bites.

“Or?” Dutch questioned, just slightly irritated to have to push conversation like this. 

“Or he’s lying.”

“What reason would your brother have to lie about something like that?”

Braeden abandoned the soup as soon as the salad came. “No reason I guess.”

No, no that couldn’t be true. Brae mentioned it for a reason, but for now Dutch knew better and let it drop it in a public place. His companion remained uneasy and gave him only limited trust. Truth was, Dutch hadn’t really been able to talk about this with someone else either, not in a meaningful way for years. Even if they did get to now, they’re experiences were quite different and maybe, just maybe Braden realized that. “I knew what it was like having this… experience, this great knowledge too and not being able to express it with anyone.” Dutch finished his soup and started with his salad. “I studied the past for years looking for something I couldn’t even describe to others. Eventually just came to realize it wasn’t there.”

“What wasn’t?”

“The reality Son, the experience of it written down properly. How the trains would grind metal that you could hear for miles, maybe tens of miles because the world was so much quieter than it is now. How you could go find a spot anywhere and just, just camp there, just set-up your home like the world was given to ALL people. They don’t describe the filth in the street or the way you’d come across homesteads with the dead, just dead people in there. They left no letters to their family, no graves, just craven eaten bodies and a mess. No one to ever know how they died or why. Families left wondering forever.”

Their ribeye steaks were set before them complete with a proper baked potato and all the fixings. Braeden peered at the rare meat as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

“Well go on, eat.” Dutch encouraged gently.

“All, all of it?” The other man seemed to shift between awe and fear.

Dutch cut into the juicy thick slab readily. “Of course. You can use it, believe me.” He gave Braeden an encouraging smile when the other began to eat and then, of course, continued now that he managed to have a captive audience for a while. “It’s usually remarkably sterile how books describe things from then, how they line out the facts by labeling one group the enemy and another the heroes. And then they worship the enemies, making them into heroes, famous outlaws.” He snorted. “If I knew then what I do now.”

“You’d go back?” 

That caught his attention immediately, but he shook his head. “No. No there is no going back. I’m different man now, a better man. I was… wrong about a lot of things Braeden. I wanted to be free and to make sure mine was free with me. I just, just wound up putting different shackles on them instead.” That hurt more than Dutch wanted to admit, saying it out loud and understanding as he did now.

“I figure…”

Their eyes met and Braeden continued.

“I figure the Dutch back then wouldn’t, wouldn’t have helped me like you are now.”

“Because of our feud?”

“Because I stood in your way.” Braeden replied simply.

They ate mostly in silence for a little bit which allowed Dutch a bit of reflection on what the other man said about him, about what he used to be. “My Arthur used to be hard, so hard. He’d always had a gentle heart, a hesitation that would’ve got him killed if we hadn’t, well we had to survive but a part of him never really took to the life. He killed sure, was just short of a little monster, but it’s like he tucked away that part of himself to do it. He was well on his way to becoming a stone cold killer when we got our boy. Later, I just…” Dutch shook his head not really sure how to describe the change to Braeden even though the two had met long ago. “But John, John came to us just a spitfire of venom, energy and hate. He trusted no one; a noose around a boy’s neck has a tendency to do that to someone but….” He bit his lip, looking up to see Braeden watching him intently. “I told myself every year those boys had beyond us getting them was a gift, my gift, our gift to them. And I loved them. Braeden I made terrible mistakes, and I can’t explain it, can’t really explain why. Sometimes it’s just a jumble in my head, a sadness, an anger that no words can describe, but I made them; I own them. I AM going to atone for what I did, and you’re helping me do that.”

“He was going to betray you.” Braeden replied suddenly.

Dutch poked at his steak. “No, no my boys never would’ve done that. I let someone convince me of that once but…”

“Colm.”

“We don’t have to talk about…”

“I did a lot of bad things, murdered a lot of people, helped turn young men into those monsters you’re talking about, the kind of folks that would kill a man for a nice button on his shirt even though none of us really wore nice shirts that needed buttons. I was… a irredeemable.” Braeden lifted his chin briefly. “And he was going betray you. I think, I think you knew that. I think that’s why… that’s why...”

“I killed you before he did.” Dutch acknowledged firmly, not trying to shut the other man down but to confirm between them the past events so they might actually move on. “But that doesn’t matter now Brae. You’re a different man, and so am I.”

“I, I think I am too.” Braeden hesitated. “Do you think when I meet the others they’ll be okay with me? I was thinking…”

“No Brae, they won’t.” Dutch reached across the table and grabbed Braeden’s hand quickly to keep the other man from retreating fully into himself again. “Some of them will remember you, most won’t. Just the name O’Driscoll will upset them BUT my boy Arthur, my son, is a good man. He’ll give you a chance once he reacts and then stops to think about it, especially if I make myself scarce for a while so they can focus on you.”

Braeden blinked at him but didn’t retrieve his hand. “You? They’re still mad at you?”

Dutch sighed and returned to cutting his steak. “You might’ve murdered a lot of boys, innocent people Braeden, and hurt women, but I broke my boys’ hearts. I’ll be fortunate if I can get them to even hear me out, but I DO believe they need me. I have to try; I owe them at least that much. Maybe not too long…” He paused. “Well it’s a challenge for now.” Dutch stilled his steak. “I owe them, but I want to help you too. I hope I can.”

Oddly enough Brae lifted his glass of beer. “I know you’re different. I guess I didn’t expect you to be this much different. Can, can we order a slice of chocolate cake? I almost forget what it tastes like.”

“You can order a slice of cake. I want the apple pie.” 

They both smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take care everyone, please.


	17. Chapter 17 – What’s on the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comes home to find Kieran and John waiting for him. He thinks he's ready to lie to them both about where he was all afternoon except winds up asking for something else for himself instead.

Arthur walked into their small apartment and hung up his jacket. The walk felt good, relieved some tension but not all of it, so he took one look at their small table where John and Kieran waited expectantly, the whole thing decked out with plates, glasses, silverware on napkins and an empty turquoise serving bowl John picked up last year no doubt for whatever that was in their dented pot on the stove over there; it smelled good too. For a moment Arthur just looked down, weighed his options, but eventually just gave them both a brief nod before proceeding to the one and only bedroom. Proper dinner settings meant conversation, and he didn’t know could have a good one of those right now, just let all that stuff inside him go, push for or even enjoy the small talk. Naturally John jumped up and followed him immediately denying even a few precious minutes to just unwind and gather his wits, so he might concoct some sort of lie as to where he’d been.

“Arthur?” Came the quiet inquiry from behind him.

“I’m, I’m not feeling so well John. You two best eat without me.” Arthur climbed onto the bed and hugged the middle pillow trying to shake himself of the ill feeling that remained unsettled in the pit of his stomach. Not much happened back at that studio, warehouse, whatever the hell it was, and he got paid, really well for that. How come he felt so unsettled, dirty even? Why did that other man’s voice bother him so much?

“You probably haven’t eaten since breakfast.” John pressed a single knee onto the mattress making it shift to that end. “You gotta eat Arthur.”

He sighed, immediately recognizing they’d just done this part, in the reverse, when John returned home moping about something. It wouldn’t be fair to shut out his lover now when he got better. “John…” Even though Arthur didn’t look at him, he heard the reluctant intake of air, and his young lover proceeded to hold it for a moment which told Arthur what John said next likely hurt the heart nestled deep inside despite John’s attempt to constantly show a hardened exterior sometimes others mistook as real.

“Kieran… Kieran made it, so it’s probably pretty good, you know, not like how I make… things.”

Arthur rolled over and motioned the smaller man to him. “Come here. You know it’s not that; John, your cooking’s just fine.” John climbed into his arms and all the tension started to melt away from the lither form which helped Arthur find some relief too. “That’s not it at all.”

“I never really learned how is all.” John whispered.

“Yeah, neither did I, but we were getting along alright, and you did most the cooking. Helped a lot.” Arthur assured, forcing a smile.

“But…” John didn’t buy it, not the worth of his efforts or Arthur’s feigned expression.

“So I do breakfast sometimes, but that’s not all that hard. All those good dinners, those holiday meals were all you John.” Arthur pressed his lips against John’s brow and whispered. “Where’d all that come from anyway?”

“Kieran learned from his folks; I mean his grandparents, I think. We, well we went to the community help place today.” John sighed unhappily and squeezed his eyes shut to hide the shame which of course didn’t do much with Arthur knowing him as he did, two lifetimes worth of knowing.

“I said I would do that John.” Arthur kept his voice as balanced as he could manage, so John hopefully understood he wasn’t mad or accusing him of anything. “I know you hate going there. I didn’t want you to feel like you did the last time; it was my turn for that.”

John tilted his head back slightly and opened those deep beautiful eyes gifting Arthur with a warm gaze too few ever experienced from John. “This is different from last time. You’re doing most the work these days, and I didn’t go alone. Kieran kept me company, and the same old woman from last time helped me too. She’s just, just nicer than some of others, seems to want to help me for some reason.”

“People who are older than you John are just that, older… not old.” Arthur ran his fingers along John’s neck. “I’m sorry John, sorry that we keep struggling like we are.” 

“You know you could, could always do better. There’s probably someone out there who’s not as big a loser as I am for you, someone who could pull their weight even. Kieran might…”

“Stop that nonsense right now Marston.” Arthur ran his fingers lightly along John’s stubbled cheek and then dropped down to grip his chin. “Before I met you, I was a miserable man. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt I could be myself with John. The strong, the weak, the dumb, the hard-worker and the idiot that go so mad I dented our best pot in a fit of rage. I just, I don’t know what I’d do without you other than be lost again. I love you John, and I’m mostly happy being with you. Kieran’s a friend, not a past lover. You want to tell me now what’s eating you?”

John wiped his nose and sat-up. “Sure, right after you tell me how you wound up coming into our apartment and finding spaghetti ready for the table which smells so good, but you don’t even go to the stove to look inside that dented pot to look at it. At least the pot still cooks all right.” He gave Arthur a weak smile.

Arthur dropped his eyes. He wasn’t ready for that, for explaining to Abigail or John how he just brought home enough money to push all their worries out at least a month or two, maybe even longer than that; it turns out, he wasn’t ready to lie about it either.

John gave a brief nod. “We’re pretty bad at this relationship thing aren’t we?”

“Going on what over four almost five years now? I think a whole lot of people do worse than we are even if they talk more. And I don’t just love you either, I still mostly like you too.”

John gave him a crooked smile. “Or yell, sometimes there’s yelling with other folks. I guess they don’t always walk away like you do when I get going at you.”

Arthur wished that were true. They’d been in a few fights, real ones, and God he sometimes wondered how the cops weren’t called. But he also had an advantage over John, he remembered fights getting pretty damn bad all those years ago, when the cocking of a pistol from one of their fathers might be the only thing to pull them apart. This was nothing compared to a couple of young men fighting with fists, knives and sometimes guns out pulled apart only by the graces of a couple of literal killers. “You up to using that bandana tonight?” He said suddenly, surprising both himself and John.

John blinked at him dumbly. 

When it became obvious his partner wasn’t going to actually respond, Arthur tried again. “I could use a little… attention tonight, the way you do it. I don’t trust anyone more than I trust and love you John. I haven’t ever been that way with anyone else…” Keep saying the love word, Arthur’s brain reminded him. John needed to hear that when he got like this, and Arthur never did say it enough the first time around. This John, his modern brother turned lover, well he was more responsible, smarter too but too damn prone to despair. Without Hosea, without Arthur… without Dutch raising him John didn’t seem to have that hellfire in him that drove him on even during tough times, and Arthur wasn’t sure there was enough fight left in him to instill that in someone else alone like they were.

John bit his lip, weighing his options while probably trying to decide what he wanted more, for Arthur to eat or… that, definitely that, of course. “What do we tell Kieran?”

“Go have dinner with him. Tell him I’m not feeling well, and I’ll take it for lunch tomorrow. Then clean-up, get him to watch some TV and have him turn it up a bit. He’s not dumb John; he’ll get the picture.”

“And the umm… mess?” John asked cautiously with doubt still written all over his handsome and scarred face. 

Two days so soon, with someone in the other room, Arthur didn’t blame him for thinking this wasn’t really going to happen. “Clean set is in the closet. We’ll change it before going to sleep and letting him in.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

And just like that, Arthur was reminded of years ago, when not just John but folks like Javier or even Bill thought he had all these master plans like Dutch had in his head, that when he grabbed a rifle and jumped on a wagon he just knew, just knew it would stop because of some grand scheme instead of standing there with all the bravo of stag hoping that damn thing didn’t just run him over. Fortunately it wasn’t all just dumb luck; he learned to think on his feet at an early age not to get… dead. That seemed to give the others a sense of awe that Arthur really didn’t want to let go of, even now, a sort of selfish delight in thinking John, the modern man, still thought Author remained something kind of special. Instead of replying Arthur just raised his chin slightly. “I need you John.”

And then they kissed. 

John’s warm hands moved along his neck, played at the nape of his neck and just squeezed, holding him still, hell even demanding he remain just so while their tongues played with one another. It felt… good to let go like that, so much so Arthur even smiled when they finally parted and got a smile in return too. 

As John walked away, he called out to his young companion. “Don’t eat so fast you choke John!” Arthur reminded as he grabbed his thick bandana and ran his fingers along the fabric and marveling at how excited John still got at just a hint of sex to come. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t like sex. Hell he’d never had so much of it in almost two lifetimes as he did being John’s partner over just a few years. It’s just it weren’t at the forefront of his mind most those other years or even a second thought really till John kept pushing for it early on, relationship or otherwise. He just couldn’t figure out how a young buck like John Marston with a pretty girl like Abigail and voice that made most shudder when John whispered something, anything, not too stupid in the dark would wind up with someone like him.

Now was the hard part. Arthur removed his shirt, kept his jeans on and expertly tied the bandana behind his head before just spreading out on the large bed to rest without hopefully falling asleep. He was used to falling asleep next to John on the couch, but this was kind of new. It didn’t help much though because he was a sleep within minutes which became evident when he suddenly opened his eyes to darkness thanks to a little whispering against his ear.

“Wake up big boy.” Arthur reached for the fabric across his eyes out of instinct more than fear when John intercepted his hand and pressed slightly chapped and moist lips against his large knuckles. “Now I don’t see the point of that.” John murmured. “I mean isn’t this exactly how we wanted it?”

“How long have I been out?” Arthur asked sleepily.

“Just an hour while I ate and helped Kieran clean-up. You sure you’re up for this? You look a little tense, but you’re not shying away from me like you sometimes do when almost naked… even though I’ve seen you naked like a hundred times now.”

“Up to it. I wanted this remember?” With the quality black bandana resting against his eyes and the tie not too snug behind his head, and shirt removed Arthur breathed in deeply, flexed his powerful fingers, and adjusted his back just a bit to try and relax his thighs. Maybe John was right. Without worrying so much about his partner looking at him, or trying to make eye contact or, well any of that stuff, he could just let go. After the day he had, Arthur wanted to, really wanted to just give it all right now except, except that wasn’t right was it? John wanted him to ease into it, not try but just… receive. He’d never been too good at that, not then and certainly not now neither.

“I can hear you thinking.” John complained, with no real bite behind the rebuke, while moving away from the bed.

If he listened real hard, Arthur not only heard his younger companion remove his shirt but perceived it hitting the floor somewhere. Next went the pants and underwear and then the socks and shoes, probably not even pooling in the same place. John soon shifted his attention back Arthur though. He took his time with the boots, unlacing the hefty footwear with the steel in it that kept his toes intact despite the few accidents that hit them over the years. His socks soon followed, and heat instantly rose along his neck, cheek and ears. Why hadn’t he showered before all this, while John was eating? He walked a good couple of hours today, and unlike the past, showering daily was…

“It’s all right Arthur.” John murmured as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. 

He heard the bathroom door open, followed by the faucet turning on and soon John returned to shift the balance of the bed as he sat. A cool cloth moved from the tip of Arthur’s toes, along the rise to move around the ankle and finally gently lengthways with the arch and heel. It felt… so good. “John.” Arthur objected softly, feeling, well feeling something that tugged at his heart and left him emotional because he was just so unworthy of that kind of gentle attention.

John planted a gentle kiss near his ankle and then smiled against the same spot. “You carry on like you’re some sort of brute. I don’t think you’re that at all, but if you are, you’re my brute Arthur Morgan, and just let me do this for you.” His partner continued, bathing and washing his feet like it was the most natural thing in the world to do as a preamble to sex, as if John Marston didn’t normally squirm and whine when Arthur took a second swipe at lube, just in case, because he was in such a hurry to get on with it. “Supposed to feel more when one sense is gone right?”

“You’re right.” Arthur whispered after the tautness just lifted from his muscles, from behind his eyes and eased from his scalp with each brush of the cloth. “Definitely heightened.”

John grinned. Oh Arthur couldn’t see it, couldn’t really hear it either, but he felt that humor just the same. It’s what John would do, every time he was right. Always had been like that, then and now. John finished and began to gently unbuckle, unbutton and finally unzip Arthur’s jeans. “We should get you something easier to get out of. Lift your hips.”

First he snorted, but Arthur obeyed, lifting himself off the bed, so John could, roughly, get his jeans off. He wanted to remind John about the overalls and suspenders, the layers of vests and undershirts and union suits and the days without washing or bathing the two of them would do together to soften that kind of complaint. Except those memories remained Arthur’s alone, for now and maybe forever, although every once in a while it just seemed like John remembered… something.

Once John got Arthur out of the jeans, he felt fingers against his underwear and stiffened, an obviously silly reaction considering. John probably grinned so wide now anyone would hear it in his sweetly taunting. “Nervous?”

“It’s different without seeing you.” Arthur replied softly, allowing his abdomen muscles to unwind a bit while John’s fingers just traced around the band. 

“Never been blindfolded before?”

“Several times.” Arthur murmured but paused to add a slight correction. “But not, not during these times and never during sex.” He hoped he hadn’t just ruined the mood by bringing THAT up again, but John simply bent forward and kissed along Arthur’s belly button.

“Not so adventurous with others?”

“Weren’t on the receiving end of too many partners wanting to explore much, and the working ladies I wouldn’t trust so much.” Arthur answered honestly.

“They missed out.” John replied while giving the elastic a tug which was enough to get Arthur to lift his ass again to have the last of his clothes discarded carelessly to the floor.

Normally this would be the part where John just sort of stared at Arthur, admired him as if found himself something worthwhile to take to bed. Arthur wondered how he could keep looking at him like that, each time, as if he hadn’t seen him several times before. With the darkness it all felt so different. Sure, he knew John looked. John always looked. If the boy were ever told not to look, he’d look. If Arthur reminded the man not to look, of course he’d not only look, but defiantly do it and then pretend it was the right thing to do. This John… well a part of him felt so enthralled by the depth of that gaze, the one he couldn’t see right now but felt real enough, that it made him swallow nervously.

“You’re so… beautiful.” John whispered.

And any attempts for Arthur to try and stave off a rouge hue failed. He felt his entire face color and hoped the black fabric might make him at least appear to be a grown man instead of the completely naked and exposed filly he felt at that moment. Then John was touching him.

John’s fingers always felt certain whereas as words and actions remained hesitant and often seeking approval from others. So when they brushed against his pelvic bone, palmed along the muscles of his abdomen until they brushed against the light hairs near his navel, Arthur knew there’d be more soon; he needed more, and John didn’t disappoint. His partner placed a few gentle kisses upon the heated skin just above his fingers, and Arthur felt his cock begin to fill. But his young lover didn’t go direct this time because John was playing and nurturing and appreciating every area he lingered on, leaving the skin singing where he caressed. Then came the brushing of their bodies together, thigh against thigh, John’s right hand gliding along Arthur’s strong arm and then another butterfly kiss where Arthur’s thigh area met his groin. Arthur groaned.

“There we go.” John praised as they both acknowledged that his blindfolded lover finally, finally began to give in and just be with him in the moment in ways Arthur found difficult to do without proper guidance.

This John gave him many things his younger brother from the distant past never could, an escape, an all-encompassing sense of self-importance, decent meals most the time he cooked and that smile, that goofy, troublesome up to no good smile that didn’t vanish for too long. This John wasn’t rigid, so that boy Author remembered from long ago was hard to find sometimes, but there remained pieces of him in this thick-headed man that nipped his sensitive inner thigh because he must’ve realized Author left him for a moment. “Hmm, I’m back.”

“You better be.” John warned him, a smile rising the tone of his voice. “I’m not doing this all again, not tonight anyway.”

A part of Author wanted to remove the bandana, get a chance to see that coyote like mischief dancing in those fine brown eyes. The other part of him, well he mostly liked this chance to feel exposed and pleasured without all that embarrassment and foolishness that followed him during their earlier attempts at this.

Slowly Arthur licked his lips and cautiously reached for his lover until he felt the scruffy chin rub against his palm. He gently caressed the other man’s cheek. “The lube is in the drawer.”

“You telling me you’re ready?”

“I’m ready John.”

Grinning, John planted a lingering kiss against his thick palm and went to retrieve their lube as directed. John always hurried this part a bit, warming the slick up just enough, getting himself hard and ready and only doing a little rudimentary preparing. It shocked Arthur at first, not just because he wasn’t really prepared for it the first go around, not exactly ready to have John rut against him like some sex starved hound dog, but the realization that John had so many hurried and probably disappointing encounters like that before him. Fortunately, they got a good thing going most nights, and Arthur found a little roughness in life helped soothe over the fact his existence had become so damn boring. And even so, their first night together, it’d been special, real special, for both of them.

John returned to him just a couple of minutes later, fingers running along his hairy muscular thighs, just sort of stroking him to get him used to his touch again. This more patient, considerate John that tantalized his inner thigh before rubbing against his ass spoke softly. “We’ll go slow.”

Arthur didn’t argue, and only a gentle huff escaped his lips when he felt the first digit ease in, sure and steady, wiggle a bit and then came another. This they did more often, Arthur receiving John’s attention. It’d been a bit so he was only a little tighter than usual but nothing like John been the other night. That night, well Arthur smiled at the memory of it though a third finger easily grounded him again. 

“How’s that feel?”

He grunted quietly. 

“A little more?”

Arthur nodded, thankful John didn’t require actual words. He felt those fingers move inside him, turn and twist and well he knew he was good enough but continued to just enjoy the gentle probing. He’d come home more often to seek solitude in the bedroom if it meant John coming to him like this with all this thoughtfulness behind his actions. “Mm, ready.” He murmured.

Instantly John audibly licked his lips, one hand moved to Arthur’s left hip and the other must’ve grabbed himself because soon a smooth bulbous head pressed, pressed and then eased its way into his eager body.

Now it wasn’t fair to say John wasn’t caring lover most the time because, well he was. It’s just he had someone several years his junior who was just so eager all the damn time, and it didn’t take much more than a chaste kiss to get John’s blood boiling faster than any Instant Pot’s claim to fame. In most ways, Arthur felt kind of lucky because while some of the men at work might whine about their wives or partners, all he had to do when he got home was basically say do you wanna, and John was always a yes… even that one time when John gotten food poison and didn’t tell him about it and wound up over the toilet instead of the bed. So yeah, Arthur got himself one of the most precious and fulfilling relationships over two lifetimes when John found him and sort of roped them into a relationship full of arguments, hardships and sex. And feeling that kind of love, that came with the thick cock that opened him up now, and a pretty strong body that held back and just pushed inch by precious inch inside him just left Arthur breathless and feeling full and just too willing to admit to himself and John, again, how much he needed this.

“Good?”

Arthur dropped his hand to find and grab John’s wrist, squeezing a little too tightly, but John remained strong and didn’t complain. “Yeah. Ease into darlin.”

A hefty gush of air left John as he withdrew, thrust forward and withdrew again, starting a three motion rhythm he clearly intended to repeat for a bit. “That voice of yours.”

It took Arthur a moment to stop focusing on that cock pushing and exiting him, leaving his body aching and in need to realize what the other man was referring to. John was the one that sounded like he had smooth gravel rumbled around in his throat every time he talked, just this raspy, edged sound that did marvels to their love life. Then Arthur realized what he’d said again and how he said it. That drawl and that nickname. “Darlin.” And John’s cock, already impossibly hard, twitched and thereby televising his appreciation more than anything the younger man might say. That was cute, Arthur decided. Oh John already said he liked the nickname, but his direct response meant while John thought he uncovered something hot and useful for sex, he’d just given Arthur a new weapon to wrangle John’s moods with too, one he wasn’t above using.

John suddenly slapped his thigh, hard, no doubt demanding his attention return to him immediately, and it mostly worked too. The sting lingered but mostly it was the rumble in Arthur’s chest that signaled he found the whole situation just so damn pleasant. Frustration or otherwise, this is what he needed… time with his often juvenile delinquent like lover, imperfect love making and all. On, and that thrust sort of winded him which resulted in a low grunt from Arthur.

“I must be losing my touch.” John rasped a low complaint.

Arthur still had a hand around John’s wrist though and squeezed just a bit more. “I’m pretty sure my cock says otherwise.” There, he said it, and he knew the instant he did John was going to just pipe down and continue to. And he did t at that. John resumed a simpler if quicker and deeper pattern which allowed Arthur to use his free hand to grip a nearby pillow for support and to press his head against it to simply enjoy the efforts of a virile and all too familiar lover. It felt good even when he felt the pace quickened a little too soon. He knew John’s ever so careful patience melted into the eager to mate animal that was his natural state when he surged forward hard enough to remind Arthur how strong his bones were. And it was at this point Arthur really did lose all train of thought. It became skin slapping against skin, wet heat and girth pounding into him, fingers too tight against his hip and another grabbing of tight muscles of his thigh. The pressure, the pain, the pleasure just felt too all-encompassing and that was before that lithe form with a sizable cock managed to angle just right to have Arthur seeing stars. Arthur didn’t hold back then; John wouldn’t want him to. He just loosed his seed and let John ride his way to pleasure too.

When they were done, John was quick, not at all his lazy self as a likely attempt to encourage Arthur to have them do it again, with Kieran in the next room pretending he didn’t hear all that grunting, groaning and short cries. It’d work too, sort of. By the time Arthur managed to roll himself off the bed to his knees, John already had the spare sheets out and began making the bed. Of course he paused to give Arthur’s ass a quick slap while he took the bandana off. “Do that again John, and I’ll show you what a real man’s slap feels like.”

John, face still flush, eyes full of satisfaction and happiness just gave him his most sassy smile. “You trying to say you’re stronger than me.”

“Stronger, wiser, and smarter, not to mention a hell of a lot better at...”

John finished up and cut him off with a long drawn out kiss that could’ve led to another round if he weren’t already so damn tired. Still grinning, John grabbed the same damp cloth from earlier and made a half-ass attempt at cleaning them both up before leading Arthur into bed. Kieran or not, that was about all Arthur intended to do before the other man joined them in a few minutes, but he sure was grateful for having John snuggled up with him for a little bit now beforehand. 

Once settled just right in the middle, John snuggled against him and rested his head against Arthur’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. “You plan on doing just your shift tomorrow or, or you think we can do a repeat of tonight?”

Now he was pushing, and they both knew it. It still made Arthur smile though because even as tired and worried as he was, John Marston still thought he was a good lay, Arthur Morgan, once a great outlaw, a suitable enough sex toy for little Johnny even while half asleep and distracted. “Last time I promised you to come for… that I got myself in a bit of trouble.”

“That?” John snorted. “You’re getting all shy on me already. This must be some sort of record.”

Arthur grunted but considered his next words carefully. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and your boss John but…”

“I didn’t do anything Arthur. I swear it.” Dark eyes squeezed shut, and Arthur realized his lover fought back moisture, a wave of emotion coming in hard and fast.

“Hey, Hey John I wasn’t saying it was all your fault.”

“I didn’t tell him to fuck off, or call him a dickhead, or tell him to eat his job for breakfast like the other ones. I didn’t do… anything. I just don’t… I show up on time, and I do what he tells me to…”

Arthur kissed John’s brow gently and then lifted his hand to run along John’s bare shoulder. “Shh. I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just, it seems like that’s a dead-end for you.”

“Yeah.” John took a deep breath.

“So I was thinking you ought to come to work with me tomorrow instead.”

“Like watch all you rough guys sweating it out in that old warehouse you never want me to go to?” John rubbed his nose. “I should just start looking again. Maybe, maybe someone will have some really low standards and hire me for… something.”

Arthur traced slow spirals along John’s shoulder blade. “You’ve been trying for a long time John. I’m proud of you. I really am, and sometimes doing the right thing the right way just doesn’t get you where you need to be if the people you’re working for aren’t going to appreciate you for it. The boss said more work might be opening up, and he could be hiring soon. I figure…”

John bolted upright and peered down at Arthur. “You said it wouldn’t be a good idea for us to work together.” Those dark eyes, they tried heard to reign in the excitement but it hardly worked.

“I know.”

“You said getting all our eggs in a basket was a bad idea.”

“Well yeah…”

“And you didn’t want me to put things at risk with an attitude like mine, or, or distract you while working… or…”

Arthur covered John’s mouth with his large hand just so he could get a word in and apology. “Some of those things, I never should’ve said. We were struggling, and I needed space, and it’s different now. It’s like you said. You’ve been doing what I told you to do, and your boss isn’t appreciating it. Maybe mine will. Sometimes he talks up bonuses and raises he can’t actually give us, and sometimes the loads just aren’t on time or right, but I’ve been there a few years now and he seems, well he must like me. I’m not making any promises, but let’s just see if he’s willing. You at least deserve to work for someone who’s going to treat you fair.”

Strong arms wrapped around his neck in sudden outpouring of a hug. “Thank you Arthur. I’ll do my best not to ruin it and make a good impression and… you know, not be me.”

“Be you John just, you know, the less mouthy, listens better and not prone to flip his boss of you.”

“One time Arthur, and that man had it coming.”

Arthur shook his head but smiled. “You ready for Kieran to come in?”

“Yeah, yeah let’s get him comfortable so we can get some good sleep for tomorrow. Big day.”

“Yeah.”

Later, when the three of them were settled comfortably John couldn’t wait for at least one question it seemed, so he just asked Arthur in the dark as the older man began to fall asleep. 

“When I meet your boss Arthur what should, I mean how should I address him?”

Arthur closed his eyes and settled with two men closest to him in his arms. “Most of us just call him boss, but until he’s actually yours, I guess the others go with Van.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie. This was... a rough chapter for me. It just didn't flow the way I wanted it to, but it did take us where we need to do for the next ones which are... kind of big.


	18. Chapter 18 – Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is excited about going to work with Arthur for reasons Arthur knows and... doesn't know. Meanwhile, well Kieran, he's trying.

_Arthur drank from a ceramic plain white cup, just black coffee, his thick fingers barely able to squeeze through the fragile and small handle. Sometimes he put sugar in it and other times cream too. Early on when Arthur tried to flirt with a waitress, he’d often just said it was up to them on what he got or you decide. Most the time they seemed mildly amused or just annoyed although a few of them challenged him to drink it black by simply walking away; he did. The truth was, he didn’t mind it one way or another. It was like his taste buds never decided on whether today’s sugary and richer offerings made him happier than the hot and strong of years past, even the gritty kind that he’d get if someone especially lazy tried to make it. So he never complained, and maybe that just made his flirting efforts a little less… pathetic. Maybe it said a lot that his best efforts in a place with peeling ivory walls, chipped blue tables paired with torn black and almost stuffed seats didn’t always seem that cut-rate. Today though, Arthur was just too distracted to remember to even try his worn-out tactics because he heard yelling in the back of the diner, swear words, something thrown so hard it hit the wall and maybe dented it, and finally a door opened in the back and slammed shut. Politely, he placed a couple dollars on the table and exited, working his way to the back where he found the man he was looking for, the one whose voice he recognized… John._

_The old diner had a gravel but mostly dirt parking lot with the view of the back door partially blocked by some sad wired fencing with failing vinyl privacy strips to hide dumpsters that still managed to make trash look worse. John stood there with unkempt hair in a net, a dirty apron covering old jeans and a not so white anymore t-shirt. His shoes clearly had seen better days and all the while John’s fingers played with a lighter, hands so shaky it wouldn’t start for him._

_“I thought I recognized your gravelly voice back there.” Arthur offered him a light._

_John glanced at him, looking annoyed, maybe irritated, but those expressions always masked something rawer, and something fragile that Arthur understood from before. He figured it must be the same now. “I thought, I thought I said I didn’t want you to come to where I work.” John still took the light though, and soon drew that smoke in with deep breaths, trying to soothe himself with something that didn’t offer much comfort. Arthur understood though; he smoked too for all the good it did him._

_“I didn’t come here looking for you John. I just get coffee sometimes. I heard you and Vito yelling in the back.” He’d never seen the dishwasher, and was pretty sure if John had been working here long he’d have known it._

_“He’s a dick, a real cheat and a first class asshole.” John spat._

_“Sounds like he’s your boss…” Arthur pointed out carefully._

_“Was…” John admitted. “He probably won’t call me in after that.”_

_Arthur glanced at his boots, work boots that had also seen better days and should’ve been stiffer in the toe. It’s what he could manage with what little he had. Maybe one day he could get those expensive ones, the ones with steel in it and good tread, room for thick socks. “Yeah, yeah probably not.”_

_“So now that you heard that… do you want me to forget your number or something?” John asked both abruptly and bitterly._

_That surprised Arthur. Sure, what they had was kind of new, and if someone asked him what exactly they had, he wasn’t even sure he could explain it without getting that look, the panic or anger or whatever it was that people felt when they thought they’d run into someone crazy. Fortunately Arthur didn’t have anyone who cared enough to ask him a question like that anyway. “Cause you got mad at someone who isn’t me? Where’s the sense in that John?” Arthur moved in a little closer. Even if John didn’t recognize it, couldn’t feel it, Arthur did; it was about to come crashing down, that volcano of emotions except they didn’t have a forest, guns… hell even dynamite to handle it out in the middle of nowhere like they had when they were young, well young together._

_“He promised me, promised me I could have tomorrow off. He said… he said…” Dark eyes peered at the dirt, not really willing to look Arthur in the eye._

_Arthur tried to figure out what he should do, so he looked around to give him a moment of thought. A dive would be a kind word to label this place, so John losing work here probably wasn’t losing much. Arthur just got coffee sometimes, maybe a slice of pie or cake, knowing there was cheaper and better coffee in other places but something drew him here though he never guessed what it was… until now. He figured he was meant to keep coming here for a reason, just like how he kept going to that small library despite never finding what he wanted there until John suddenly found him there. Here they were, he and John, standing in the back in a situation the younger man didn’t control and experiencing a moment John didn’t have a handle on. Despite that easy smile, the smooth way John came onto Arthur, and the hard way the brunette rejected the world around him, that look of deep hurt and betrayal… yeah John rejected the world because he figured it’d already excluded him long ago. “Well… it looks like you have tomorrow off since you aren’t going back in there.”_

_John finally looked up at him, scowling briefly before he challenged Arthur’s claim. “How do you know I’m not going back in there?”_

_“You’d have to apologize to him, and probably politely ask him for your job back, beg.”_

_John threw his cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with his old shoes. “Yea, I’m not doing that.”_

_“I figured. You want a ride home? If you’re taking the bus, it’s at least an hour out.”_

_The younger man nodded and followed Arthur to his ride. It was an old car, a strange dull brown color that wanted to be tan but couldn’t quite make it, and boxy, the sharp angle kind like before everything had curves, before modern styles. He kept it immaculate despite her age. Maybe his most worldly possession wasn’t worth much, but it got him to where he needed to go each day. “Where to Marston?”_

_John wiped his nose, took off his hair net and rolled down the window with a deep sigh. “1 Hersey St.”_

_And then Arthur knew why John didn’t want to meet at his home too. The apartments there were basically dormitories for the small town’s unattached bachelors with no money, few prospects and nowhere else to go. He’d heard there were about four beds to each bedroom and a lot of unpleasantness. He turned the key to warm her up, gave her a minute to purr before he encouraged her to go. “You wanna come to my place instead?”_

_John returned his focus to Arthur immediately, eyes slightly wide and that darkness threatening to consume even the rich color of John’s deep eyes retreated quickly. “Really?”_

_“Sure.” Arthur tried to play it cool, real smooth like this wasn’t something he’d come up with in the spur of the moment because he just saw John lose his job and found out he was living in a place most people would rather not die in. “It’s just a little mobile on some property that’s, well it’s just dirt mostly but the man I rent from is the one that tosses me odd jobs once in a while. It’s quiet though, out there, and I keep the place clean.” Was he selling the idea now? Was that too much?_

_“Odd, odd jobs?”_

_This time it was his turn to glance away, stare at the pedals by his feet because, well because he didn’t like his work either. “Day labor. Most days I just join him at whatever site his crew is at, get a shovel and start digging, moving dirt, you know, shit an old dummy like me can do.”_

_That got a smile, a sweet one actually that was almost as equal parts shy and sly. “There’s nothing dumb about you Arthur.”_

_“John…” Arthur felt his cheeks burn. This John managed to bounce back a little smoother at least, with less fists, less mouth and more compliments._

_“And you know you’re inviting me back to your place. You know what that means right?” And the shyness melted pretty quickly to reveal something Arthur might just call damn near predatory in nature._

_They left the parking lot, and Arthur pretended to focus on a nearly empty road to avoid answering because if he thought about it long enough, the very idea that he was taking John Marston home, after all those lunches, all those gentle passes, and coaxing, to have sex, he’d have to admit two things: one, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and two, he’d hadn’t felt this alive in years._

John woke up early the next morning, long before Arthur would normally get up with just a large amount of joy filling his heart. He couldn’t be happier could he? Okay, sure if they lived in a bigger place where three men didn’t have to share one bed, and if the noise of busy street and curses from down the hall didn’t join the sunshine that beamed in through the window things might be better. And if Abigail and Jack… No. John rubbed his eyes and glanced down at Arthur who slept with one large hand resting on his chest and breathed in profoundly still in deep sleep. No matter what happened around them before, John wasn’t about to let any of that ruin today. Arthur wanted him to go to work with him, thought he was mature enough and just… good enough to try and work at that warehouse, with him, his live-in boyfriend. Maybe it wouldn’t happen. Hell his lover might just wake up and get all worried and uncertain about just blurting that idea out last night, but the fact remained that this meant Arthur **wanted** to be around John more. Pulling double shifts, staying out drinking with who knew who, and the way he’d walk home instead of taking a quicker bus, sometimes John just wasn’t sure about that. And now, now everything felt different, better.

Carefully John slipped out of the bed, noticing Kieran wasn’t beside Arthur, so John quickly brushed his teeth, threw on some pants, ran his fingers through his hair and hurried into the other room worried Kieran might’ve up and left which would completely put a damper on this whole thing... except he found Kieran, in the kitchen actually cooking.

Kieran was completely dressed, and his hair looked a little wild with a light dusting of flour on one side. He managed to find their oven mitts as well as the used World’s Best Dad apron John managed to find for a quarter at some fly-by flea market a couple of years back. He’d first started trying to cook, like for real, when they got this place, and for some reason he thought wearing an apron was just the thing to do except, well… every time he reached for it he kept reading the words and thinking how wrong it was for him to wear something like that, a father’s day gift that wasn’t even given to him, that shouldn’t be given to him. Arthur never questioned him about why he never wore it and probably thought it was best not to ask about every little thing that bothered John. Seeing it on Kieran now managed to sap some energy out of him, but Kieran’s goofy smile diffused some of that bile trying to build in his stomach.

“Hey John!”

John glanced at the clock, noticing it was only turning ten and there on the table were fresh snickerdoodle cookies, he smelled caramel coming from somewhere, and Kieran just ladled what look like pancake batter onto a hot pan. “If you just give me a minute, I’ll have your breakfast ready real soon.”

Hesitantly John took a seat at their table and reached out to toy with an empty glass, not really knowing what to say until Kieran dropped two pancakes on his plate, drizzled it in caramel, topped it with whipped cream and added an egg on the side. “Kieran…” If his voice came out accusatory or confused, John just wasn’t sure.

“I wasn’t snooping or anything John, I promise. I know you have a… menu you do each week or month or something, but you haven’t really been doing it since I got here. I figure pancakes and cookies are pretty cheap if you make them at home.”

“Caramel.”

“Just sugar and cream and butter, not too bad! We get one egg each, and we can use the batter again tomorrow. The cookies will stay good for several days too for a, a snack. I figure I can go get my ID updated soon, so I can go donate some plasma, and then I can pick up some yeast for some bread…”

“No.”

Kieran’s face fell, and the shine in his eyes darkened pretty quickly. “Oh. Okay John. I won’t, I won’t get any yeast. I can just give you the money. I, I mean I know I owe you.”

John took a deep breath and realized he needed to clarify a few things before Kieran delved too deep into self-pity, worry and despair. “Not, not that. Arthur doesn’t like it when someone goes to those places for a few bucks to get poked and have their energy drained. He just, well he won’t be okay with it.”

The other man poured himself a glass of water and frowned slightly. “But that’s you John. I mean maybe he didn’t like how much energy it took out of you and a little scaring because it’s a big needle, but thirty dollars or even twenty is a lot of money. I’d think Arthur would care a lot more about that than what I am doing for a couple of hours.”

For a moment, John closed his eyes and tried to think, really think about how to explain this without upsetting Kieran or Arthur. That required at least a bite of pancake, and boy was it a good bite too. “He cares about you Kieran, a lot. If he finds out you were in pain for a measly twenty dollars, he’s going to get all control over you.”

“Control over me?” Kieran questioned in confusion.

“It means he’ll get kind of mean and bossy and bark orders at you because he’ll think he failed you with you having to do something like that.”

Kieran toyed with his egg. “And he did that when you donated and got paid?”

John nodded. “I was at the employment office when some fella told me about it. When I didn’t find any work to apply for, I went there afterwards. I came home with the money, cash, and, well Arthur took one look at my arm and just got… real upset, mad.”

“Did he, did he hurt you?” Kieran gulped looking horrified and nervous.

“No!” John blurted out immediately when he realized the other man wasn’t picking up what he was trying to say. “Arthur wouldn’t, well sure he can get mean, and we’ve tussled a couple of times, but nothing like that.” He covered his face with one hand and sighed. Shit, this is why Arthur recommended he never talk to anyone about their relationship except Abigail who at least knew them both pretty well and could reason out what happened versus what John actually said. “Arthur doesn’t abuse me or anyone else. He was just upset is all, and when I was real tired, he kind of made me swear I wouldn’t do that again, at least not without talking to him first.”

“Oh.” Kieran continued to play with his egg. “I don’t know that I’m going to be able to do much for a while then.”

John reached across the table and gently gripped his wrist. “I might not really understand it, but you being here is making a difference Kieran. Arthur’s happy you’re here, safe with him. Maybe I can get this job today or tomorrow or some other day, and you can just help out around the place. If not, we’ll, both of us, we’ll figure something out.”

A hesitant smile formed on the other man’s pale face, highlighting just a tiny drop of batter on his cheek. “You almost sound like you don’t mind me being around John.”

John began to eat a little more quickly because he wanted to take a shower, practice some interview questions and just look and seem ready to be professional today. “I don’t mind having you around here Kieran. I’m just worried you being here encourages his, well his fantasies, but you seem like a nice enough guy to me.”

“You ever wonder what it might mean though, if it’s all real?”

He snorted at the absurdity of that question and would’ve replied if Arthur hadn’t wandered in with a wide yawn soon followed by a big grin.

“Kieran. I heard you get up early this morning, but I couldn’t imagine all this was why. I guess now I know why my dream had a bakery in it.” Arthur examined the results of the kitchen efforts as if he didn’t care at all it was kind of a mess.

Kieran and John exchanged glances but wisely let the other conversation die. “Sit down and just give me a minute Mr. Morgan. I’ll get your pancakes and egg before you can place all those smells you’re getting, and don’t you worry about the cost. All this is from scratch.”

Arthur gave John a gentle kiss on the cheek and then sat next to him. “You can make caramel from scratch from what we have?”

John shrugged. “I guess so. I’ve never had it on pancakes before, but it sure beats that fake maple stuff we keep getting since the real syrup is so dang expensive.”

Arthur took another deep breath and didn’t smell like a cigarette. The promise of something sweet and filling must’ve drawn him right to the kitchen. That helped John let go of some of that earlier worry because he wanted Arthur to quit, and not just because Abigail rode them hard about it. “We’ll get out of this rut we’re having John; we have before.”

“I sure hope so.” John kept eating. “I mean if we fall behind this time, there isn’t much to fall back on.”

“Well we have a little extra actually, nothing, nothing too big because we gotta give Abigail what’s she’s owed. The bank is on the way, so it’s just a short stop if we leave early enough. I want to get there before the shift too, so if he does want to do anything today with you John we have time without getting in the way of the work.”

John set his fork down. “Give Abigail what she’s owed? Arthur she lives in a nicer place than we do with a yard and everything. I’m not… THAT far behind on my payments. She said she could hold off for a bit anyway.” Arthur fixed him with one of those looks, the kind that John swore for some reason should be followed by some sort of lecture that started with be a goddamn man except to John’s recollection Arthur had never said anything like that before to him. It was strange though how his voice was right there sometimes, saying things like that, distant but so… close.

“We’re lucky Abigail’s never tried to do anything official with the courts or anything John; you know that. We have an agreement with her, and we have try and meet that better than we have these past couple of months.”

John lowered his eyes and stared at his pancakes, feeling a knot form in his throat, but Arthur wasn’t about to let him linger too long in shame and doubt.

The man gripped his shoulder firmly and squeezed. “I got it covered for a little while. WE’ve got it covered, so let’s just focus on today. Remember not to ask about money, you already know what I make anyway, and yours is going to be less than that so don’t expect…”

Arthur’s assurance lifted John’s spirits right up. “Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve got years of experience, bigger, stronger… older.”

That last one got him a snort. “I’m not sure they pay people more for that John.”

John grinned. “Maybe not. I got myself an older lover though, so it’s, you know, a little fun to think about that sometimes. Does he, does your boss know we’re together?”

“He knows I have boyfriend. We don’t really talk so try not to do that talk about relationship thing you keep wanting to do with other people. Hell I barely see him because he’s off bossing around other folks who don’t know what they’re doing. Van knows he doesn’t have to worry about Charles and me.”

“Charles is a coworker?”

Arthur hesitated, but only for a moment as he finished his pancakes. “And a friend.”

John blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“The guy you sometimes go to the bar with?”

“Yeah.”

And then John knew he had to be careful about all this. He was moving in on Arthur’s privacy territory, into his working and separate space and evidently finally meeting a friend. Job or no job, he wasn’t about to risk losing Arthur by hoarding in on this quiet time he managed to get. Hell he might even find out if Arthur even liked his job. “Okay. I’m going to get ready and then study up on some of those questions and answers they have for interviews on the computer, oh and make lunch.”

“Just be yourself John, nothing fake or forced just, you know, less mouthy and no swear words until you have the job.”

“I… I made lunch.” Kieran interjected. “They’re both packed and ready to go. I was going to go somewhere today, but since I’m not now I’ll just clean-up and you know have dinner hot when you get in. That’ll give you more time to prepare John.”

Arthur nodded, stood and went about his morning routine letting the other two do their thing. It wasn’t until John rejoined him, their bagged lunches in hand and as they were heading out the door that Arthur paused and frowned at Kieran. “Say Duffy, how’d you know John was going out today?”

“Yeah… you fellas aren’t as quiet as you think you are.” Kieran closed the door on a stunned Arthur, and if they weren’t trying to get there earlier like Arthur planned, John wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to get the older man moving again so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the little flashback was worthwhile for everyone. To be honest, I wasn't sure how I would handle the look back kind of thing, only that I wanted start with an established relationship between Arthur and John, and then sort of show some other relationships as we went. This just felt... better than another internal, thinking of before thing the boys do.
> 
> Stay safe everyone, and thank you for giving me your time to read this.


	19. Chapter 19 – Arthur Hates Buses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're headed to the warehouse, on a bus, you know that thing Arthur hates? And because that's not enough, John pushes for that other thing he doesn't like. It might not be the best way to start this impromptu push to get John a better job with a better boss.

Arthur rested heavily against his arms which lay on his denim covered thighs while seated uncomfortably on the too bright blue bus seat. These things didn’t seem to be created for people with any amount of bulk, and he hated the smells, the noise, hell even the fact that the man to his left leaned too far towards him and kept brushing against his upper-arm. Mr. Bean Pole, John Marston, stood nearby, hand clasped against a dangling plastic grip, and didn’t seem bothered at all by the kid who shutout the world not just by wearing large black headphones but also remained so oblivious to anyone around him that when he swayed hard enough every time the bus moved to actually bump against John, the boy didn’t even apologize.

“I doubt he heard much Arthur. Kieran probably just turned the TV down once he thought we were done thinking we’d call him in is all.”

“Didn’t hear much John? He knew you were going to work with me today without either of us telling him that. I’d say that means he heard more than enough.” Arthur paused, raising his eyes to meet John’s dark globes. “We’re not having this conversation here.” This was the third, maybe fourth attempt John tried to assure him not much was heard last night. The younger man tried as they went down the stairs from the apartments, while they walked to the bank, and then while waiting at the bus stop. So yes, four times his lover wanted to have this conversation out in the open, and each time Arthur shut him down but not without the habit of almost engaging first which just encouraged his lover to try again. Arthur knew what John was most worried about anyhow, and it had nothing to do with what Kieran heard and all about whether or not Arthur might clam up and deny him his carnal pleasures if they couldn’t figure out a way to fix this problem of Kieran hearing too much. Good. Maybe it would help the boy settle down a bit, so they could somehow get through this not really an interview process. Van once said one of the most difficult things he had to deal with running a business was fill an empty spot because there were men in this world who seemed keen on getting jobs but not real anxious to keep them, or something like that. The man had a habit of taking something as simple as saying it’s hard to find and keep good workers, especially if he seeks out the ones with records, and turning it into some kind of speech. 

“You know Arthur, there’s probably a rule out there about this?”

Arthur rose his brow. “A rule John?” He asked despite knowing damn well this was drawing him into a conversation he didn’t want to have mostly because he wanted to know what the hell John might be thinking.

“Yeah, about actually being able to talk to the man you’re sleeping with about sleeping with him.”

A snort freed itself from his nostrils before Arthur had a chance to stop it. Then his lips got the better of him too. “Didn’t seem to be much of a problem for the women I was sleeping with before you.” Arthur probably could’ve found something more irresponsible say if he had all night, and he’d need all night too because that was pretty bad. They both knew Arthur didn’t have a lot of experience with sleeping around, this time around, and he sure as hell didn’t get into a relationship long enough with hardly any of them to even get to the point where they wanted to talk about it like John did. Damn, he wasn’t making any of this better squabbling with the man like they were feuding brothers again instead of the lovers they actually were.

Fortunately Marston just pursed his lips, dropped his head a bit and gave his best scowl to the dirty floor. “I’m going to let that go because we’re supposed to be proving we can work together, unless you expect me to sew my mouth shut the entire time we’re there. Arthur if you think…”

“No, no John I don’t expect that.” Arthur had to cut this off as best he could and get the hothead to focus back on trying not to make a ruckus within the first ten minutes of meeting his potential boss. “I don’t, I don’t expect that. I just, I don’t want to be thinking about… that while I’m working is all.” His light eyes rose just in time to see the hurt reflect in those dark brown globes. What? Immediately he didn’t get it. Why was not thinking about sex at work something that might actually upset John?

“I didn’t realize thinking of me was that much of a burden to you.”

Arthur stood immediately, startling the people around him, including the little dipshit that had his music blaring so loud even the rest of them could hear it. He didn’t care that modern folks were so jumpy that a man standing upright had a few of them looking too ready to pee their pants. He figured less than half of them would’ve been able to tolerate even walking five minutes in a city or town in the late 1800s. They’d, all of them, be hitting the ground every time a gun went off or some horse spooked. “I think of you all the time John.” He tried to whisper, keep his voice down despite his anger and anxiety, and it probably just came out little better than a hissing cat. “But I can’t go running around a warehouse full of mostly straight men getting all worked up, hard, and with my head in the clouds. There’s heavy machinery, moving bodies and big crates and flats easily substantial enough to kill a man, and I gotta pull my weight so if he ever has to lay some off for a couple of weeks again it won’t be…” And he couldn’t finish because John placed each hand on his shoulders to draw him near to plant an almost chaste kiss against his lips, almost.

“You, you think about me all the time?”

Exasperated Arthur almost went into another spiel, but the bus abruptly took a too sharp turn and sent a few people involuntarily shifting towards the windows or the aisle except Arthur who immediately planted his feet and wrapped a powerful arm around his lover to hold them both steady. Years of muscle memory tied to jumping on wagons moving so fast they might lose a wheel, fighting and shooting on trains, and just balancing himself in rough terrain made him pretty steady in these types of situations just by reflex. By the time Arthur began questioning how come he kept getting on these things with a driver fresh out of training, he met his lover’s gaze again, and John was all grins. “You’re my… my…” Say the right word, Arthur prayed, to wrap this all up for the rest of the day. “Life partner.” John’s grin widened, so Arthur continued. “And if I could I would be with you a lot more than I am, but I need, John I need our love life to remain… private.”

Quickly John nodded. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” Arthur challenged just a tad too firmly.

John took it in stride though. “I do. No mentions of your… unmentionables at work.”

Unmentionables? Arthur cracked a smile, couldn’t help himself. Damn John knew how to draw a smile, even if his whirlwind of emotions left him racing to catchup more often than not.

By the time they got to their stop, they were mostly content again, content to walk with John running questions through his head like he should’ve been doing this whole time, and Arthur just hoping and praying this didn’t turn into some sort of John induced disaster.

All thoughts about questions and interviews just flew out of the man’s head when they finished that last stretch and wound up nearing the warehouse’s alley entrance. Right in front stood upright a sleek black motorcycle. Now Arthur didn’t know a whole lot about bikes, almost nothing really; he just knew Charles showed up with it one day in a leather jacket with the same Harley Davidson red lettering that his bike had on the sleek side. It’d become a project Charles picked up a number of years back, restoration or something like that, a labor of love that start with just a little money to get a something nearly abandoned and turn it into a workable piece of eye candy. When it ran Arthur just found all that noise a little too distracting, taking away from the outdoors that he loved so much, but when he rode it, and Charles did let him take it around the area a few times to feel or hear some sort of… change, the wind felt real nice. Arthur asked about Charles being in some bike gang or something, but Charles laugh and just quietly mentioned that not everything changed as much as folks seemed to think it did. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure what he man meant by that, but the guys around here sure enjoyed it when the bike showed up, and sometimes even they were allowed an extended break or lunch to just play around with it. Charles’ generosity sure didn’t change much, and his focus that needed to try and perfect something like hunting or tracking, well he figured it might’ve manifest itself in some way in this century, like with this hobby bike of his.

“Holy shit.” John got excited, and probably not because he knew a damn thing about bikes either. No this was fantasy, just thoughts and images and possibilities that modern John latched onto as easily the old John had. Come to think of it, Jack did that too, then and now. The boy sure loved stories, although Arthur had to be cautious with them since both Abigail and John thought he came with a few screws a little too loose. “Whose bike is this?”

“Mine.”

The man, his hair just a little longer than John’s, eyes several shades darker but secure on Arthur before moving to John while he approached them still wearing his heavy black leather coat, fairly plain aside from the branding. He extended a hand to John immediately, a smile threatening to pull at his lips. “You must be John Marston. Arthur’s told me all about you.”

There was something almost familiar with the way Charles addressed John, an ease and openness Charles didn’t show men whom he’d worked besides a few months or even a couple of years. It felt almost like Charles was expecting to see John today, not a surprise at all. 

John looked so, well so happy that Charles recognized him and probably even more surprised that Arthur talked about him at all, certainly not enough detail to be recognized. “Yeah, yeah I am. Are you, are you Charles?”

“Charles Smith.” The other man confirmed when their handshake ended. 

They exchanged a few pleasantries, and Charles even fielded a few questions about his bike. Arthur didn’t really pay any attention to that because he felt some guilt settling in his stomach not just for delaying this introduction for so long but because he began to question whether John really thought he came to work each day and didn’t think about him. When they first met, sure Arthur clammed up a little bit when he realized the recognition was one-sided, but then he wanted to get to know John, find out what his life was like, what he was like now. It all sort of fell apart a bit when the attraction thing came out and they were dating, kind of, and in a relationship, sort of. After Jack was born, John came back and they moved here, he tried so hard to do better this time, say how he felt, encourage when he could, but mostly just let John know he couldn’t live without him… and here he was acting like the most shocking thing in the world was that Arthur might say something about him to a man he spent his working days with. At some point the other two must’ve finished up because both men wound up looking at him. 

“Arthur?” John asked hesitantly.

“My mind wondered.” He muttered and then gave Charles a puzzled look, hoping to move on from this train of thought so he might focus on why they came early in the first place. “What are you doing here so early?”

Charles gave a brief smile. “Changing oil actually. The boss said I could send it out with the other used oil he was sending out today. Gotta save where you can right?”

“Those clothes look mighty fine for dirty work.” Arthur challenged without much bite.

Charles chuckled, his eyes frequently looking to John as he spoke. “Finished around twenty minutes ago. I already cleaned up. I was going to go down to that little market not far from here to get something carbonated. Need anything?”

Funny how Charles didn’t ask them why they’d come early or even why John was there. Somehow Arthur just figured the man already knew. Charles always was smart like that even if he didn’t say much to anyone. “Nah, not this time. We’re counting dollars too.”

“More like pennies.” John muttered.

Charles returned to his bike and straddled it. “I won’t be long.”

Once they watched them leave John turned to Arthur. “He seems nice.”

“He’s one of a kind John.” Arthur assured, trying not to look the other man in the eye because he’d know, John would just… know. He needed to at least get him introduced to Van before the younger man fell apart realizing that yes, yes Charles was another person from their past.

John frowned slightly and gave him that look, that you’re hiding something from me look, but that quickly faded away to excitement again. “Just, just want you to know that no matter what happens in there Arthur, that you’re even willing means the world to me.”

Arthur approached him and gently if quickly gave him a peck against the temple. “You’ll get to have a beer with us, no matter what John.” He could give John that at least, a promise that he and John and Charles might just sit down and talk, even if he dreaded it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a much larger chapter, but I decided to break it up into 2/3, so if it feels a little sparse because of the zoom into Arthur's thoughts, hopefully you'll find what you were hoping for in the later ones. There's... more.


	20. Chapter 20 – Van’s Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've arrived at Arthur's work!
> 
> Perhaps the worse summary...ever, I know.

Arthur opened the hefty door but went in first, keeping an eye out for wayward forklifts and trying to see if a specific idiot might be responsible for shifting pallets from one area of the floor to another, potentially making room for any of tonight’s new cargo or maybe readying for a pick-up. Fortunately he recognized a couple of faces behind the bright yellow machinery and didn’t think either of them were likely to pierce John’s abdomen or run over his foot like they learned how to drive the thing yesterday instead of having spent months if not years doing this kind of work. On multiple occasions Arthur had to grip John’s upper-arm though to keep them moving, to draw his attention away from whatever it was that drew those dark eyes so intently. His young lover just kept looking up at the stacks of pallets, crates, and marveling at the old heavy machinery parked in their yellow painted parking designations as if they walked through a theme park and not the everyday work environment Arthur knew too well. Even the basic stacks of boxes and safety equipment sort of lobbed haphazardly on a few shelves instilled a sense of awe for someone who spent too many hours slogging around a strip mall. Once again Arthur felt the weight of guilt begin to build inside him as his heavy boots audibly hit the hard cement floor, and his eyes moved to John’s basic white and grey sneakers. They weren’t too bad, of course. Arthur insisted his lover keep a good pair around to help with his back and feet, but they weren’t the over hundred and fifty dollar type thing Arthur wore to work, and they sure as hell wasn’t any brand anyone would recognize. John wound up settling for so much less just to keep them going, and here Arthur was hiding his warehouse and only close friend like it was something too precious to share. Except… except Arthur really was afraid about what might happen if John found out about Charles, really found out about him. John seemed ready to throw Kieran out for no good reason at all other than he thought his presence might spiral Arthur fully into madness, so what would he do if he found out Arthur had been talking to another one for years? Okay maybe that was a valid reason from John’s perspective, but damn it Arthur wasn’t insane. He convinced himself of that even before he met John, a man literally from his dreams, that what he’d been seeing had to be real, so real he could almost feel the rain and the wind, smell the gun powder.

“So what exactly do you do all day anyway?”

Arthur froze for a moment, completely torn out of his minor distraction to glance at John before pulling the younger man behind some towering old steel shelves designed to store bins and boxes and anything a man could carry using a sizable red ladder nearby. “You don’t know?”

Immediately John’s slightly shadowed cheek turned a light rouge. “Well…”

“John, I’ve told you about my work at least a dozen times over the years, probably a lot more than that. You telling me you don’t listen?” 

“I always start to...” At least John admitted his poorly formed excuses freely this time around.

Arthur sighed in frustration; this shouldn’t have surprised him at all. John had a short attention span if it wasn’t something exciting or described as fun. A part of Arthur expected his lover to be limited to being able to write three things down about his work: warehouse, expensive boots, and a swing shift.

“Arthur you just, you know your stories about the here and now aren’t as interesting as...” John’s voice trailed off, and for good reason too considering how much he hated that other topic. That was something though, finding out John actually liked one or more of his “stories.”

“That’s because I liked what I did then. This is just… this is just grunt work.”

John snorted. “You’re telling me you liked sleeping outside on hard ground and rocks, missing meals because you didn’t find anything to kill that day, and being chased by the law? I mean this has to be better than shoveling dirt like you used to do right?”

“I LIKED sleeping under the stars, seeing so many of them they filled skilled as far as the eye could see, not like… now. I got fresh cool air all the time and was serenaded by the coyotes and quiet. I traveled too many miles to count, saw too many places to even draw all of them. Hunting deer, rams and all sorts of birds, and foraging kept me in the wild for days, sometimes not another man or woman or child seen for just as long. Riding horses, John it was, it was really something else, and it felt free to be out there.” Arthur had to move them away from this topic, no matter how much he liked talking about it, before it got them too distracted and arguing again. Remembering too long also led to heartache, for what was lost, for his failures and for the depth of loneliness that came from being the only one too remember. “If Van asks you if you’re ready for the kind of work we do, just tell him you know how to show up every day, work hard, and you’ll get stronger as you go. If he asks if you understand the kind of work we do, just tell him I like to keep work at work, so you only know a little about it.”

“Arthur, I’m not weak.” John replied looking a little too offended for someone who just admitted he couldn’t even describe the work Arthur been talking about and doing for a few years now.

Arthur rolled his eyes and led them back towards the office that sat at the top of some yellow safety painted stairs and railing. “I’ve got more than several pounds on you John. Repetition will help you bulk up some.”

“That’s not all muscle.”

Arthur pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes and fought every urge running through his veins to either lash out at John for that mouth of his or shift uncomfortably because he did actually feel too heavy most of the time. It’d only been a year or so ago that John found Arthur’s stash of Men’s Health magazines with all those “ideas” he’d marked with a pen. But no matter what Arthur tried, the diets, the routines, and those dumbass dumbbells, he just couldn’t get the leaner look, that sculpted form, those abs. They couldn’t afford anything with the word protein in it, and he just wanted to be something John could be proud to say he slept with. Hell it was John in the end that insisted he start eating normal again and stop killing himself after a long day of work trying to look like that, so Arthur mostly walked, walked a lot and still wound up, well big. He didn’t tell the young idiot that though, that it wasn’t just his hate of buses that kept him moving all the time, and today wasn’t like then, when strong men seemed to make-up for what they lacked in intelligence or good looks. Those handful of days not long before that, when John just didn’t seem interested in Arthur, really wrenched something inside him, set off all sorts of insecurities he didn’t want to admit because John was, well John. How the hell could John reasonably explain not wanting sex for a whole week? Eventually though his younger lover insisted he weren’t pining for a magazine kind of man at all, and their brief reprieve from John’s insistent pursuit of sex was actually due to thinking Jack had heard them one night when he stayed over. It turned out the one thing that could chill John Marston’s constantly needy body was his son… only Jack hadn’t heard anything. Apparently the boys sudden emergence of panting sounds were an attempt to mimic a dog he’d seen somewhere, not his father and not Arthur; Abigail was at least kind enough to clear that up when Arthur became discouraged enough to get enough courage to spend less than a minute talking to her about their sex life.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m just nervous.” John entered apology mode immediately and not a faked shift either. His beautiful eyes glanced at Arthur while he tried to explain himself. “I just, I never feel adequate for these kinds of people.”

“These kind of people?” Arthur asked quietly.

“People better than me.”

Arthur turned at the bottom of the stairs and placed a palm against John’s lightly stubbled cheek and jaw. “That man up there is just a man. He’s not better than you or more worthy than either of us. He’s just a man John who owns company. How he got it and why don’t matter. He’s just a regular guy we can respect and work for because he’s treated me right the whole time I’ve worked here.”

“He’s a man who decides whether I’m good enough to even get a chance to work with you. I’d say that makes him something a little more than just a man Arthur.”

They’d have to dive deep into this later. Arthur knew something bad happened at John’s work, he just didn’t know how much it cut until now. The one plus in all this was if John thought Van was some sort of superior being, maybe they’d at least get through this without that sass Arthur just encountered. To help ensure John wound up in a good place first they needed a quick pep talk before they had any hope; Arthur just wasn’t any damn good at this. “John. You show up early at your shift every day. You go in unless you’re sick. You’ve stayed longer than should’ve to get things done, and you wouldn’t throw your job away if your boss asked for a little extra just once in a while. You try your best at almost everything you do, and when that’s not good enough, you keep trying to get better. Everything else, we can teach you, I can teach you, to do this job.”

John took a deep breath nodded, even cracked a smile. “Okay.”

“Now you get that head of yours on straight, remember you deserve a shot at this as much as anyone else. I’m not itching to do the job of two men, so you should know I’m only suggesting this because I know you can do it. I know you’re ready. Maybe you weren’t a few years ago, but you are now.”

The smile grew.

Arthur gave John a firm pat on the back of his shoulder even though he really wanted to hug and kiss him, just soothe that hurt inside him so he could get a real chance at this another part of him thought if they were going to have some boundaries, well… might as well lead by example.

“Arthur is that you son?”

Before Arthur collected his thoughts fully, the door to the office opened and outstepped Van.

Van always looked neat and tidy no matter what he wore, whether it was black slacks, a dress shirt and tie or the black jeans with a white and navy pinstripes button-down shirt he wore now. He kept his mustache trimmed always, hair above his shoulder, combed and styled just so. When he wasn’t going to join them on a floor, he often had some sort of accessory on him like a watch, a couple of rings or sometimes a vest with a couple of pins on it. Not that accessorizing ever stopped Van from rolling up his sleeves and joining in with the rest of them if they needed the help or were running short on time which was one of the reasons Arthur didn’t mind so much working overtime or just staying a little late and getting no extra for it. He didn’t really know the man’s age, but he figured he wasn’t that much older even if he sounded, acted and even felt at a least a generation ahead of him. Van never wore work boots though, not the heavy stuff like the rest of them; he preferred polished leather shoes which made him the quietest and most careful man on the floor most days although Arthur did see a pair in the locker in the office that he imagined must’ve been worn, at least once or twice.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me.”

Van peered over the railing. “What are you doing here so early…?” And his voice trailed off once he got a good look at John.

Arthur gave a brief nod in John’s direction. “We came early. I wanted to talk to you about that posting you mentioned earlier and introduce you to…”

“John Marston.” Van came down the stairs looking oddly excited, real energized with eyes bright and animated like Arthur hadn’t seen since that one year they got their Christmas bonus. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs Van held out his hand to John. “Arthur’s told me all about you, well at least mentioned you a couple of times. I’m…”

“Holy shit! You’re him, the one, the one… he’s been talking about. Oh my god you have to be... You’re Dutch!” John turned and ran away from the two of them, barely missing a nearby forklift as he exited the warehouse via the nearest door as if he’d just encountered a ghost. 

He left Arthur standing there looking confused and alarmed and Van with his hand still held out as if both of them just didn’t know what to do with what just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I rewrote that last bit a few, half-dozen times. I really couldn't tell if I am implying what I wanted to imply correctly, and still don't know at 100%. I am trying so hard not to mislead, but hey the next tow paragraphs will clear that up, hopefully!
> 
> Otherwise, I hope that mini flashback brought a smile and present day piqued some interest.


	21. Chapter 21 – I’ll Buy You a Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is confused and upset. John is confused and upset. Somehow, despite the shared emotions, they're just not going through the same thing.

Arthur found a dirty spot on the concrete near his boots on which to stare which said a lot about where his mind remained at the moment because there were more spots, stains and evidence of oil, metal scraping and age in the old place that just one hardly stood out. He realized this particular disaster fell on his shoulders, was the thing, that he knew John was upset about something, more than usual, and pushed him into this too early. His partner took one look at Van and called him Dutch, saw him as someone Arthur explained in detail, the good and bad, the heartache and joys, anything really trying to trigger that memory of his, to no avail. Now look at what his selfishness cost him: John’s opportunity and maybe his job which remained the best thing they had holding their unstable lives together. “Look Van, I’m real sorry about that. John, he can be… well…” 

“It’s all right son. This place can be overwhelming for some when they first arrive.” Van glanced at the door John fled out of and then focused back on Arthur although the younger man found it hard to meet the man’s eyes even then. “If he wants to come back another time for an interview, that’s all right. As you know it can take more than a few resources to even get a decent worker through the door, and then all the paperwork and…”

Arthur looked up. “You’d do that for me, I mean John? You’d give him a second chance?”

Van smiled briefly. “Well it’s as I always say Arthur, we can’t always fight nature, and John’s nature is rougher than I imagine even…”

“We can’t always fight nature. We can't fight change, we can't fight gravity, we can't fight nothin'. Arthur blinked slowly as he rehearsed those words uttered so many years ago, and then he frowned and took a deep breath; before he understood what was happening a tear must’ve escaped from his right eye because the wet track suddenly drew his attention.

“Arthur…” Van’s voice softened, and he stepped closer, looked like he was about to touch him but Arthur stepped away quickly. “Arthur do you, do you...?”

“Don’t touch me.” He heard himself hiss at the man, his boss, his only link to actually trying to make it in this world, this age, but it felt like it was someone else doing the talking, not the calm and collected and reasonable man he tried so hard to be now.

Van held his hands up slowly and then motioned towards the office when they both started to realize an audience began to form around theme. “All right. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I just, if you want to talk…”

Their eyes met and drawn out silence took over the area. If anyone was stacking anything, working machinery or even just walking, Arthur didn’t hear it. He just stared into those dark eyes and felt himself get colder and the tendon and muscles in his jaw tightened while his heart began to quiver. He said nothing, couldn’t find the strength or the wit to even form a single word.

Naturally Van didn’t give up, didn’t walk way or shirk from what unfolded between them. “John’s more important right now. Arthur, listen to me. You go, you go get him, help calm him down. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere. YOUR JOB is not going anywhere. Do you hear me son? Everything waits until your return.”

Arthur swallowed thickly, turned and left out the nearby door with John on his mind. He didn’t really hear everything the man said after that, something about please return… maybe. It was the right words that got uttered early that managed to get Arthur’s feet moving again. Get John. Nothing else mattered right now. John was scared, or angry, or, or maybe hurt, and an emotional John just didn’t make good decisions. Fuck. Arthur began to wonder if he ever did either, then or even now. He wondered if, how… No. It didn’t matter. He needed to find John right now.

**

John ran. His sneakers hit the old cement stained with oil, human refuse baked for years under the sun. He didn’t know where he was, exactly, only that as he kept going, he passed more industrial buildings, some little more than giant blocks like the warehouse he left behind and others a little tidier with attractive signs suggesting customers or at least clients might be welcome inside. None of that mattered or at least didn’t stick with him for long because all he could think about was what he’d seen back there, that man, a description of that Dutch guy, the one that Arthur said raised, trained and ultimately betrayed them. How could he not see it until now? How did he not realize that Arthur’s descent into insanity began to cross from the make-believe into the here and now? Of course it would eventually wouldn’t it? Nothing so detailed, so… profound in a person’s life would ever remain just a dream, just fiction for long. Arthur morphed his boss into the spitting image of a man he seemed to both hate and love, and, well hell John couldn’t always tell what Arthur felt about THAT man only that it was always something strong, something almost scary with the intensity of it. He paused when his foot sank about two inches deep into a puddle; he cursed, looking around again, confused, worried and sick to his stomach. He didn’t even know where he was going, or how long he ran or what he was going to do. What if… what if…

“Hey.” John whirled around to see Charles just pulling up on his bike, coasting really with two legs stretched on either side of his impressive machine. 

John tried to think of something to say, anything really but nothing came out.

“Hop on back. I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Fifteen minutes later they were somewhere in a sketchy part of town where industry began to give way to low-grade commercial buildings and old housing and, of course, a coffee shop. This looked like one of those places John imagined used to be everywhere before the likes of Starbucks, Dunkin and that strange place that sounded like just some guy’s name took over. Arthur talked about that a little bit, seeing small shops close up as the big chains came in. Little things reminded John sometimes that Arthur was older, not just with the way he looked or how he rejected some of the more modern fun thing like video games, crazy popular movies or just dancing. These became remarks that told John Arthur had been to more than a few places looking for something but never finding it, at least until he claimed he found John.

Charles sat across the table looking calm, steady even, while he waited for too expensive coffees to be set in front of them as well as a muffin and something called biscotti. John figured that was just a cookie except no one ever called it that. Nervously John toyed with coaster.

“You left there in quite a hurry.” 

At least Charles started conversation a little faster than Arthur seemed to do. Arthur could easily sit in that chair and just stare at John, just sort of bore into him and wait and wait and wait until John just finally let something burst out of his mouth to start whatever they needed to have out. This time seemed different. John didn’t even know what to say to a man he didn’t know about all this insanity. Charles probably didn’t think Arthur was crazy, didn’t know he was working with a man who just turned their boss into a villain to do what exactly? “Yeah.”

Charles ran his hand across his mouth. “He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

“Who?”

“John. This’ll be a lot easier for both of us if you don’t pretend like we’re not talking about the same person.”

John scowled at the table. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“No. No I don’t.” Charles agreed. “But I do know him.” He paused. “Kind of like I know you.”

The server dropped their coffees off without a word giving John something to grab like a safety blanket. “You don’t know me.”

“I…” Charles took a breath, took a drink, and then set the cup down to just sort of keep a steady eye on John for a minute before continuing. “I know you think you’re protecting him. I know you’re scared because you think he’s created some sort of story that might cover him doing something awful.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” John replied miserably, the chill inside him too profound to be hidden by even pretty good coffee.

“He’s not going to kill Van.”

John snorted. “He turned him into a mustache twirling villain. What makes you so sure he’s not going to just go shoot that place up?” Shit. He said it out loud. If the police came, how could he even claim he didn’t really know how dangerous it all was? Maybe he could still say he thought Arthur was harmless crazy because, well because he did. Except… Except Arthur actually had a gun. Their lives, his happiness, all his hope would just die with Arthur if his lover wound up getting himself killed in some crazed act of revenge. He felt sick.

Charles chuckled like this was the most normal and not at all shocking conversation they started as their first real talk. “I suppose looking in it might seem that way.”

John hesitantly meet the man’s dark eyes, his mind grasping onto the only thing, person in the room that gave him even a brief reprieve from mourning Arthur’s premature death. “Seem that way?”

“That he was always the villain, a madman. From the start, it was different.”

“Different how?” John hadn’t exactly labeled Charles crazy just yet, so he felt almost safe asking about these things. It kind of surprised him that Charles knew about any of this, and just sat there like, like…

“Someone like me John, back then…” Charles shook his head slowly. “It’s not like now, and even now isn’t that great but back then I’d never seen someone like him, nothing like we had where everyone was just taken in like that.” Charles leaned forward. “But I wasn’t there from the start, mostly the end. You were though, you and Arthur and Hosea, and some ladies.”

“How come, how come you’re not worried or scared or even angry about all this Charles? I mean… a normal friend isn’t likely to be this calm about any of this shit. Here you are buying me a coffee like… like…”

“Like we’re old friends, real old friends John. Because we are.” Charles murmured against his cup, his expression, his eyes, hell everything about the dark man right now just seemed so damn steady and certain, and John just didn’t know how to take that.

“He told you all those stories, so you’re thinking it’s at least better than the life you have now?”

Charles cocked his head to the side. “Arthur’s not told me a single story from when you’re talking about.”

John narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow trying to figure this out. “Then how…” Oh shit.

“Kieran being mugged is something isn’t it?”

“That’s now.” John accused cautiously. “He had to tell you about that.”

“He did.”

John smiled even though he didn’t really feel happy about any of this. What exactly had he just won again? “So that isn’t some big reveal then.”

“No.” Charles turned his cup twice, not out of nervousness so much as like the man tried to concentrate to say just the right thing. “I just figured if any of us was going to be down on our luck and gonna get mugged, wind up slumming on the floor with Arthur, it’d be him.”

“Why’s that exactly.”

“Kind of pathetic, isn’t he?” Somehow that tone didn’t sound nearly as unkind as the words might convey to someone overhearing them.

John swallowed unhappily, smile gone. The man knew too much, emitted calm and thoughtfulness instead of panic and deception. Hell, John wanted to believe him even if he really, really didn’t want to believe him too. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

Charles shrugged. “Am I… right?”

“Kind of.” John admitted and then sighed. “None of this makes any sense. And I’ve ruined, ruined everything.”

“It will, and you didn’t.” Charles glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time.”

“Before what?”

“Before Arthur wises up and finds us here. If there is anything you want to ask me before he does, you better do it now.”

“You’re not claiming he’s going to track us somehow, in the middle of this weirdo almost like city block if you only think of a city as the old and dirty part of town kind of place.”

Charles smiled briefly. “There’s no real tracking in civilization like that. That’s why we have detectives now instead of hounds. When they have to find something in the wild… they still use hounds though. Arthur’s smart. He’ll get here.”

“You ever sleep with him?”

And Charles laughed. “I should’ve figured you’d wind up being the jealous one.” Charles' eyes rose above John’s head, and John turned in time to see Arthur walk through the door looking anxious, heartbroken and then relieved when their eyes met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always knew this part of the story would be... challenging, but fear not for those who are looking for more. This, shall we call transitional phase, is not quite done just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is not a replacement for my other series. Different mood, different style, and I'm still enjoying the other one. I thought I would post this one as I work on it too. This one will be slower, a more traditional chapter thing but the POV shifts might make it slightly disjointed sometimes... we'll see. I'm expecting this one to hit... darker territory too.


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